


Always Keep'Em on a Leash

by spacebrock



Series: Stars, Devils, and Symbiotes [5]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Spider-Gwen (Comics), Venom (Comics), Venom (Movie 2018), maybe more - Fandom
Genre: E-65, Earth-65, Earth-65 AU, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebrock/pseuds/spacebrock
Summary: Eddie Brock serves Matthew "Murderdock" Murdock, AKA, the Kingpin, in Earth-65. How, why, when, where, and other questions answered herein. And of course, what's a villainous couple without a little...Star-Power.
Relationships: Eddie Brock/Matt Murderdock, Eddie Brock/Matt Murdock, Eddie Brock/Matt Murdock/Peter Quill, Eddie Brock/Murderdock, Eddie Brock/Peter Quill, Matt Murdock/Peter Quill, YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS - Relationship, hot mess of a fic I'm so sorry gbye
Series: Stars, Devils, and Symbiotes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859026
Comments: 26
Kudos: 21





	1. Fealty is so hard to come by...

###  Neon splashed the wall through the cathedral window. It was a statement piece declaring power above all other powers, a halo of jewel-encrusted glass. Shards of ruby making rays of sunlight, flecks of emerald becoming blades of grass. It was a kaleidoscopic microscope, a spotlight of a thousand hues. In its ocular glare, nervously bouncing a leg, the culprit of the latest fiasco in the Bronx sat awaiting judgment.

No angel wielded a flaming sword, no unseen but all-seeing power moved to strike him down.

On the contrary, Greg sat before the judge and jury in the form of a garishly-dressed man with tinted red glasses and his living shadow; an associate so quiet and still that Greg occasionally forgot he was even there. Behind his desk of iron and mahogany, stroking the head of his cane every so often as he contemplated Greg's statement, Matthew Murdock, the Kingpin, was perfectly framed by the circular center of the window. He was the thing from which all life grew in the glass; distorted and shimmering. It pushed up out of lines of concrete; plots of land in a grid that echoed that of the city. The closer you looked at the shapes, however, the further you got from the truth.

Greg had been granted a great deal of time to think and reflect on this, as he'd been in this room for little over ten hours.

The boss had come and gone, however- as had his lackey, trailing behind him with the obedience of a church-grim, bound to the faith of the fallen. The church in question was a den of inequity; the temple that of gamblers, thieves, conmen, all forms of corruption as deep as the many supposed Circles of Hell. A few of those demons had been by as well, but now the devil himself was back; front and center. The winged chair behind him splayed like leathery wings as he leaned forward, fingers fanning across the papers on his desk.

"You're certain you haven't heard anything about missing product." Murdock's voice was pleasant, albeit concerned. Greg nodded frenetically, fingers flexing against the arms of his chair. Pale fingers tapped once again against the files, and the Kingpin rose, adjusting his tie over the paisley shirt he'd adorned with a smooth flick of his wrist. Greg tensed as he came around the desk. The cane swished out through the shadows on the floor; a shepherd's crook for wayward souls. In the darkness beyond him, out of the light of the takeout sign making the stained glass gleam, Eddie Brock remained.

He wasn't a particularly large man, but his broad shoulders filled out the suit he wore with deliberate purpose. The whites of his eyes were all but slivers in the dark; watchful and stoic. He might as well have been a piece of the wall behind him, stony and built to be a fortress. To look at him was to make direct eye contact with the guillotine. His gaze shone without mercy, and struck without hesitation.

"I swear," Greg whispered to both of them. Murdock's head tilted to one side, and the smile on his face softened slightly. 

"Of course you do," he soothed, motioning in a calm down kind of a way to the man trembling on his [quite literally] assigned seat. Walking past him, Murdock reached out to tug the shade down over his office door's window, plunging the room further and further into darkness. The squeak of loafers and the tap of the cane against the side of his chair were the only indicators Murdock had returned - before he leaned in, slow and purposeful, to whisper into Greg's ear:

"But I would swear that less than a day or two ago, you had your fill of the excess. You powdered your nose with it. I can tell because you're still sweating the drugs out of your system. You cut it with baby powder. Weird choice, but it's your body." One hand slid over Greg's neck, almost-fond - before Murdock -  _ Murderdock _ , he was reminded in that instant - gripped the back of his head and pulled back on his thin gray hair. Hard.

Gone was the crook of the shepherd; the innocent support of a blind man. Here now was the blade, the sneer of which was singing steel so sharp it split a loose hair that'd grown just a smidge too long on his throat. He didn't dare to swallow, lest the bob of his Adam's Apple do him in. Murdock's breath flickered against his ear, the opening of a furnace.

"Your pulse just accelerated. Your eyes are dilated. One's still bloodshot and watery from how much of the product you've overused. Did you really think you could lie to me? Did you think I was so naive I wouldn't pick up on a little thing called withdrawal, Gregory?" The blade rested against his throat. "Tell me where the rest is, and maybe I'll spare your life."

"2-23rd," Greg eked out, unable to see anything but the big shining window. Light at the end of the tunnel. "Paxton Warehouse. It's - it's just there. Please. I was asked to do it - " 

"Asked to try the product or asked to move it?"

"M-move it!"

"So you tried it yourself, for fun." Greg whimpered a little as the blade loomed closer. The silver katana winked - then blinked out of sight as Murdock stepped back, sheathing his weapon. 

"That's good to know," the Kingpin remarked quietly. The cane's end found the floor and he leaned forward a little, rocking on his heels. Greg started to stammer a thank you before Murdock raised a couple of fingers, dissuading speech. His mouth slipped closed yet again. "I'm a man of my word, Mr. Kestopolis. I won't take your life." Relief flooded him instantly; making him sag a little, boneless in his chair. 

'But I believe...my husband...will." 

"Wh - " Greg didn't have much time to get the word out. He didn't even have time to scream. The last thing Greg Kestopolis saw was Eddie Brock dissolving into a writhing ball of shadows; tendrils upon tendrils like a horrible algae, mold sprouting under the arching window above. His last coherent thought was oh, SHIT before Greg thought no more.

The office walls were a red wave ebbing; a web of carnage. As Eddie trailed Venom back into himself from where they'd blown Greg apart, the ocean of blood bubbled and vanished, absorbed by the riptide of Venom, pulled under. Housekeeping. Safekeeping. Their unnatural, undulating shape sanctified the office after baptizing it in  _ eau de criminal. _ The crunch of bone was not his own. The squelch and the rush of nutrients sloshing through his system faded slightly. Little by little, Eddie looked more human - the black veins sliding back under his skin, his suit no longer a living thing of wriggling tentacles, until at last, he stood behind Matt, a statue once again. 

Except - 

"Eddie," Matt was saying, in a tone of quiet exasperation, "you got something on my  _ face  _ that time,  _ darling _ ." Automatically, Eddie dipped a hand into his breast pocket, reaching for his square handkerchief. He stepped forward, but Matt impatiently pushed his hand down and away, demanding:

"No, no, not with that. Just..." He raised his chin and tilted his head, showing off the splash of red that had swiped across his jaw. Eddie's eyes ticked across the offering, then, little by little, the pocket square got tucked away. Haphazard at best, rather than his usual methodical efforts in folding it just so. There were more urgent matters at play than that of a little inane ritual. 

"You know how," Matt added slyly - and Eddie nodded, moving forward to where the lights of the city and the distorted window bled together, seeping into something like liquid electricity. It buzzed between them as Eddie leant in, his hand beside Matt's on the desk, and, with very little effort whatsoever, opened his mouth to unfurl a tongue too long to be anything remotely human. It snaked over the splash of refuse on his King's cheek, over the crest of his jaw, between coarse stubble and the sweet softness of his skin. Matt shuddered a little, one hand lifting to curl into Eddie's shirt, grip a vice demanding sacrifice. Eddie granted it, another few, languid strokes of his tongue; a couple of permitted bites. 

"Fealty is so hard to come by," Matt breathed, and, hand still wound in Eddie's white silk shirt, shoved him down hard into the winged armchair before climbing into his lap, smile positively manic now. 

"But I suppose that's what I have you for, now, don't I,  _ darling _ ?"

In the shadows of their unholy empire; under the omniscient approval of their city, pressed against that which he bowed his head to, Eddie agreed in a trinity hymn of sighs: _ yes, sir. Yes, lover. Yes, yes,  _ **_yes._ **


	2. Sanctuary Under Your Name...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOW in the world did this allegiance happen? Oh, the usual. Espionage. Research. Boning on a desk, probably. You know how these business mergers tend to go.

###  Eddie sometimes reflected on the first time he met Matthew Murdock. 

It had been an absolutely ordinary April day. A little cold, a little wet, a little cruel - the usual for the time of year. 

He’d read up on him ahead of time, of course. If nothing else, Eddie and his closest associate were dedicated to the fullest comprehensive understanding about anything they considered...dangerous. And indeed, anyone.

As such, neatly compiled into a little black file with a bright red paperclip was everything Eddie had on Matthew Murdock. “Murderdock”, as people called him. Eddie’d heard a lot of things in his time - in the private sector of information-gatherers, they all had nicknames. There’d been Riot, and Carnage, and so on, and so forth - names that he felt were better-suited to the metal bands he abhorred, but steeped in a strange culture of secrets that weren’t necessarily of this world. “Murderdock”, on the other hand, was too clunky; too obvious, something that bled up from the streets and stained a man’s entire reputation.

But men like Matt Murdock, well - 

They didn’t shy away from a little splash of red.

So when Eddie entered the office that’d previously been someone’s idea of a house of worship, he was hardly surprised to see two rubies winking out at him, rather than visible eyes. Nor was he surprised by the way the red shards of the dysfunctional stained glass window - what was it supposed to be? Some sort of biblical landscape? - and how their light cast a pair of glowing shadows along either side of Mr. Murdock’s fine mahogany desk.

His hands, splayed on the top of it, were strikingly clean. Freshly-washed in the basin meant to deliver holy water, Eddie assumed. Sitting across from him in a room that no one had bothered to turn a light on in, the information-gatherer waited to be addressed. He’d been let in by an unamused-looking man on his way out. Detective Castle, if he wasn’t mistaken. The jostle to his shoulder hadn’t harmed his fine suit any. Though he imagined the lovetap his fellow associate had granted the clumsy policeman probably affected him more.

A consequence he was prepared to deal with in due time if necessary.

“Am I to understand,” Mr. Murdock was saying, his hands slipping back over the edge of the desk as he finally settled back in his chair following the review of the paperwork Eddie’d brought him; all laced with braille. “that you came all the way down here to my little neck of the woods in search of a  _ job, _ Mr…?”

“Brock,” Eddie said calmly, one leg folded neat and tidy over the other. “I believe you already knew that.”

“Yes,” Murdock said, brightly - almost chipper. A small huff of a laugh chased his words, the flash of an eyetooth dipping down to drag on his bottom lip. He let it go, and shrugged with his hands, one of which then dipped down to fasten the button of his jacket. Eddie’s eyes followed the movement, half-expecting the infamous weapon Murdock was known for. An idle thought blew across the broad sky of his mind like a cloud:  _ he’d look better in a paisley print. _ Something bold to offset the darker hues.

“With all due respect…” Steepled hands wound together as Mr. Murdock leaned forward. Little by little, he positioned himself just so. His back off the high wings of his chair, and beyond him, the stained glass of chaotic abstracts. Eddie squinted a little, then slid back a centimeter or so in his seat.

From this angle; the shards of topaz and amber clustering together formed a perfect halo around Matt’s head.

No, not a halo.

_ A crown. _

Because there was another name “Murderdock” was known by. One that held all the various spokes of the city together; kept progress turning. The wheel and the rack. His smile was widening by the minute as Eddie watched him, and the ally he carried close to his heart tensed; coiling up. Preparing to strike as necessary. The Cheshire expression went feral as Murderdock,  _ the Kingpin, _ drew his blade in a movement so swift it was hardly visible.

Eddie felt the tip tilt under his chin and stayed where he was, hands on a knee, eyes fixed on the Kingpin’s face. Matt was rising from his seat again, a decisive, deliberate movement wherein all was a string pulled taut. With a laugh like a cello beneath its bow, Matt slid around the desk. The pressure of the wickedly-sharp blade increased with his every leisurely step, his free hand trailing over papers behind him. 

“I’m not an  _ idiot,  _ Eddie.” 

Eddie arched an eyebrow but said nothing for a moment. The katana turned, and the slow gyration dragged light agony where it rested. In the distance, Eddie could hear the quiet hymn of passing cars on wet asphalt. 

“Yes, I do know who you are, Mr. Brock.” Murdock leaned inward, coming closer to Eddie than he normally would’ve liked. There was little to go off of, at first - the scent was...delayed, the pulse was carefully slow. Even Matt’s breath was measured. He didn’t do anything by halves, and he thought about his every motion. Which is why Eddie knew if he’d wanted to, the Murderdock would’ve done them in already.

“So I have to ask, what would San Francisco’s leading white-collar  _ spy _ benefit from by moving  _ all the way  _ out here, to New York, to start over?” Matt’s nose scrunched a little, the smile persisting. “Must’ve done quite a number on your previous town. What was it I heard last? Oh, right…” His next chuckle wafted against Eddie’s ear. “You’re the reason the entire Life network went down, aren’t you? I suppose…” The blade shifted directions; and the flat of the weapon stroked Eddie’s cheek. Stubble scraped. Eddie stayed fixed on Matt’s diabolical grin, waiting.

“I have you to  _ thank _ for that,  _ don’t I, _ darling? They were causing such a nuisance here in New York...when you wiped them off the grid, I could sufficiently steer hospital funding the way it needed to go again…” He trailed off as if surprised at himself for giving so much away, then shrugged. “No matter. Still doesn’t explain why you’d come to me with - what was it?” One finger slid back to run across a few mounds of text, and Matt smirked, tapping for emphasis. “‘A proposal for a mutually beneficial contract between two business associates’. If you wanted my hand in marriage, you could’ve simply said so.” There was silence.

Then: “I’m  _ kidding, _ Eddie, laugh.”

“Ha,  _ ha _ ,” came the soft monotone, and Matt sighed, knife still clutched in his hand. It bounced restlessly as he crossed his arms, leaning against his desk.

“Many would view you,” Eddie said when the lull had settled enough for him to do so, “as a man with reckless ambition. Or one of precise calculation. I do not believe either to be mutually exclusive. In reviewing your work, between the networking, the book-balancing, the machinations of running a city...I believe you are more than capable of swinging either way. But perhaps you could find my talents...useful. My ability to retrieve information previously restricted by…” Eddie’s smile was a cold one, the cocking of a gun with the tilt of a head.

“Various means.”

“I  _ do  _ already  _ have  _ plenty of informants, Mr. Brock,” Murdock replied, sounding bored. The katana swiveled; circling his hand. “What makes you so different from the rest? And what’s in it for you? That’s what I’d really like to know.”

Eddie hesitated for the first time, and Matt caught it. It wasn’t nerves, or anything of that nature - no, this was...by far, the calmest man he’d encountered since Nobu. Missed that man sometimes - his ferocity and passion always tempered by the need to move forward. That took precedence. Matt drummed a few fingers against the hilt of his blade before Eddie spoke again, in that bass voice that shook the floor ever-so-slightly:

“If you know about the Life incidents, then you know how necessary it was for me to vacate my previous accommodations.” Eddie shifted forward in his seat, and Matt lifted the katana again in a silent reprimand, one brow raised above the frame of his glasses. All Eddie did was lean in a little closer, however, and fold his hands in his lap after uncrossing his legs. “It was no longer safe for me in San Francisco. All I am asking for is…” Eddie’s eyes lingered on the stained glass.

“Sanctuary under your name,” he filled in smoothly. “And I will work harder than anyone has ever worked for you in your life, Mr. Murdock. Of that I can assure you. For example, I ran some preliminary numbers…” He nodded to the papers, though he knew Matt couldn’t see the gesture. “And it seems your point man at the docks, Mr. Halpert, is skimming about 17.453% off the profit margin. This he funnels back to the Yakuza in exchange for their protection. Someone in the Yakuza is, as such, moving against you.” Matt’s jaw tightened; nostrils flaring. He’d had suspicions, but - 

“If you doubt me, however…” Something tugged at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. An almost-smile. “Touch my face.”

“What?” Matt’s incredulous tone cut through his feigned disinterest [and mulled-over irritation]. Of all the things he’d anticipated, that hadn’t been on the list.

“Touch my face,” Eddie insisted again; this time softer than before. His eyes slid shut. “And I will show you not only that you can trust me, but also, that I am  _ not  _ simply just another informant.” His head shifted in a way that didn’t  _ feel _ right; serpentine and coy. Matt felt a thrill rush down his spine.  _ Odd. _ He’d come to expect anything in the city; but - Eddie was  _ new. _ New enough to not  _ bore  _ him, just yet. Not properly.

Skeptical, Matt kept one hand on his weapon, the item once again directed under Eddie’s jaw. The other hand lowered, finger by finger, to touch the clean-shaven visage beneath it. Matt didn’t bother to tell him that he  _ did  _ know he was telling the truth - perhaps not at a  _ trustworthy  _ level yet, but - there could be no doubt found in a heartbeat that steady.

Little by little, the face under Matt’s fingers began to change.

The knife jerked a little in his other hand, but he held it together enough to not decapitate the most intriguing person he’d had in his godforsaken office in so long - at least for the moment. The temperature under his hand dropped by significant percentages, and, little by little, slick chill sloughed under his fingers till it became...vinyl-like. His fingers rubbed across a polished cheek, then down along the lips. Or where they ought to have been.

Instead, Matt found his fingers greeted by a smile that rivaled his own for its sheer mischief; its size, its ferocity. One digit drew itself down the edge of an oversized...tooth? And he winced at once; the ridge to the edge not unlike that of a blade itself. He popped the digit into his mouth for a moment, savoring the flavor of the razor-wire cut.

In a voice both his own and entirely not, Matt heard Eddie speak again - a low ignition purr, something starting up in the furnaces of Hell itself:

**_“We are RIOT,”_ ** said Eddie-and-not-Eddie, the layers of which Matt felt rise and fall in crescendo waves,  **_“and if so desired, we are yours to command.”_ **

There was a long, silent moment as the the devil of a man considered the offer extended by a demon straight out of the 7th Circle. Then, little by little, his smirk returned, and his thumb brushed across broad fangs again as they shifted back and away from his hands. Little by little, the creature withdrew, an attack dog on a fine Armani leash. The tie had a little silver pin that jingled every time it hit a button, the chest beneath the finely-tailored attire almost too broad to be contained. But they managed. Eddie and...his Riot.

So did Matt, as his thumb caressed full lips instead, still softly stroking. The katana sweetly clinked as it was sheathed back into its cane. Matt laughed; quiet and coy.

“Well...hard to refuse an offer like that, now, isn’t it?” With one smooth movement, Matt set the sword-cane down behind himself, and, with no warning whatsoever, dipped into Eddie’s lap, legs slotting neatly over his own. Arms winding around his neck, Matt brought them close together, fiendish grin that of someone hanging off their last hinges. Eddie froze for a moment or two, eyes fleetingly passing over Matt’s face.

“We should work out the details, Eddie. Talk shop. Maybe I can...test just what you mean by  _ command… _ ” Eddie inhaled sharply at the hands that ran across his chest, and Matt leaned up to whisper in his ear:

“And you can tell me more of what you know about  _ me,  _ darling…”

To say their deal was sealed in a kiss would be telling, though, wouldn’t it? It was the beginning of their blasphemous era. 

It only made sense to baptize it with a little bit of blood, sweat, and saliva. 

To say the least, and nothing of the chanted cries to a deity neither of them necessarily believed in beyond their darkening world.


	3. Kill Us With Your Love...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's that tropey stuff I know you live for. Well, I live for it. Don't look at me.

###  [ Five times, Matt told Eddie he was going to kill him. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfks4mkTOqg)

The first took him by surprise. It was a perfectly innocuous transfiguration. One moment, he was holding the door open to let in a client. The next, Matt was slitting the man’s throat and calling Eddie an idiot. “You’re telling me you and your little  _ friend  _ couldn’t smell the difference? That version of Hal was  _ clearly  _ a shapeshifter. God.  **_What_ ** _ do I keep you around for _ ?”

The katana had posed the question more emphatically against his neck, and Eddie found himself walked backwards toward the desk in due course. Matt’s pointed features twisted into something of a jigsaw of emotions - disgust, annoyance, exasperation, and something that tasted like sea salt with dark chocolate to Eddie and his symbiote both. And they both could’ve ejected themselves out of the situation. Easily, the two of them could’ve slipped out from under the blade. Devoured Matt wholly if they wanted to.

But they hesitated.

Which was why when Matt turned the sharp edge of that knife upward under their chin, neither of them moved. Part of it was curiosity. The other part - 

The other part got caught somewhere between Matt’s teeth; nasty and sharp even in their even white state. The real predator wasn’t a perfect sword, no.

The predator was the man who said, “I’ll  _ kill _ you Eddie,” as pleasantly as promising to make it to his next meeting,  _ so sorry for missing it this time,  _ **_darling._ **

“Just not yet.”

It started with tallies on his skin. Matt kept score with the end of that great knife; or so Eddie believed - shirtless, bound, and kneeling before him in the dark, he endured the brushstrokes of the madman whose instrument for his heinous art was the blade.

“If you interrupt me,” Matt informed him coyly, the weapon digging *in* just across Eddie’s left hip and dragging upward, “or if you make a sound - I’ll  _ kill you,  _ Eddie.” This time, it was practically a sing-song. Some melodic little giggle that was belied by a sigh of contentment as Matt watched him bleed.

Eddie wasn’t allowed to staunch the wounds with symbiotic material until Matt gave the go-ahead. So he’d sit there and stain the floor crimson; a little sacrificial wine for the office of the non-church with blasphemy in its mahogany floorboards.

There was the incident with the fever. Matt was only a man, after all - in peak health when he remembered to eat [or rather, when he was  _ reminded  _ to eat - another duty Eddie had taken upon himself], physically fit, strong and supple and capable -- but despite appearances, just a man. Not a demon sustained by souls or sake or whatever else the whispered streets claimed.

He preferred Macallan neat anyway - it didn’t take a genius to notice these things. But people always went for the scare factor. The unknown and the dark.

But the man Eddie sat beside in the dimming office under the last light of day is a man who had been sneezing off and on for hours, looking irritable and flushed in the face. He was restless, more so than usual - tilting his head sharply to the left and tugging every so often at an ear. Eddie’d attempted more than a handful of times to try to get him to lay off and go rest, but he was impatiently waved away every time.

Until at last, Matt was half-slumped over his desk, one hand lazily trying to read the words beneath his fingers in preparation for a case he had in two days. Plenty of time to recuperate, Eddie figured - and did what he had to in that instance to avoid certain disaster.

He committed a small sin to avoid a bigger one, and scooped Matt wordlessly into his arms to haul him off to bed.

“I’ll kill you for this, Eddie,” Matt mumbled, turning toward Eddie’s chest to burrow against the silks and soft cottons. Eddie broke the mold of his expressionless face long enough to smile slightly.

The threat didn’t really work on someone who sneezed like a kitten in the rain.

It was why when he tucked Matt into bed after kissing his brow and helping him take cold medicine, Eddie knew he’d live to see another day. Especially when Matt wouldn’t let go of his hand when he got up to leave.

So he stayed.

A fourth time Eddie heard it from the floor. Not by Matt’s hand, no - this time his armor had been peeled from his bones and he’d been cut to almost nothing. His suit in shambles; his time running out, Eddie was at Matt’s mercy and that of the universe. Too much fire; too much noise, and too much of something he couldn’t contend with. 

He’d lost his constant companion. Time blurred between threats and action, faces and people came and went like Grand Central in timelapse. Eddie wondered whether or not he’d live to tell Matt he didn’t  _ want  _ to die. He wanted Matt to kill him; to end this. It felt like his marrow was sizzling apart. His adrenals were blazing. Little by little, he crawled into place to lay at Matt’s feet like the sick dog he was.

“--Elsa, this isn’t me asking.” Matt’s tone had shifted front hat of its usual theatrical lackadaisy to something much more urgent. Harsher, even. This was someone who always got what he wanted. Eddie caught the cold glint of his sister’s stare through her glasses as she stood over him, too, arms folded. Matt and Elsa faced off against one another, and all Eddie could do was stay still and try not to bleed or burn out. 

“This is your final warning.”

“Even if I help,” Elsa told Matt shortly, “it wouldn’t matter. The success rate is 3.34% repeating at  _ most. _ ” Her foot nudged Eddie’s own and he bit back a sharp cry of pain. Wouldn’t do to hurt Matt’s ears. “He’s lucky it even worked the first time.”

_ Klink. _ Roll.

Matt had barely shifted his arm, but the katana had come and gone. A pearl earring, dislodged from its stud, rolled across the floorboards. Eddie watched it drift off into the dark, a miniature ball seeking invisible pins down a lane of fine-grain wood. Elsa lifted a hand to her ear, a smear of blood from a micro-cut dyeing her fingers crimson.

“Try anyway,” Matt said blithely, before looking down at Eddie prone before him. There was a sigh of disappointment Eddie felt somewhere worse than bone-deep, followed by:

“Oh, Eddie,  _ darling. _ I’m afraid I  _ am _ going to have to kill you for this.”

“It’d be easier to simply let him die on his own,” Elsa pointed out - then jerked back when Matt drew the sword again, hands up. 

“I’ll -- see what I can do.”

“The girl,” Matt added, flat and cold. “Our little friend.  _ Gwen. _ Tell her the rental period is  **_over_ ** .” Elsa opened her mouth to protest, and Matt all but barked, “ _ if you want funding to continue, you’ll consider your response carefully, Dr. Brock. _ ” Elsa closed her mouth again, hands tightening before her. All of this swam through Eddie’s periphery as a bleary blur.

“Besides,” the Kingpin added smoothly, recovering his composure. “He’s your  _ brother _ . The least you could do is spare him a little sympathy. Gwen will recover.” There was a beat wherein all Eddie heard was the pulse pushing dwindling life through his ears. “Edward, well - it’s a tossup at this point. But I’ve always liked working against the odds…”

Eddie felt Matt kneel beside him, the last rays of hope two red lenses keeping watch in the night as his world tipped over into darkness.

And finally, there was the night they’d  **won** . They’d  _ won,  _ well and truly, it felt like a victory worth having. There’d been champagne, there’d been a gala, there’d been signed agreements and wrangling of criminal organizations all brought to heel by Matt’s machinations in a room of white marble and offset piano-style staircases. There’d been a grand big band, and there’d been ballgowns, and there’d been an extravaganza just short of  _ ding, dong, the witch is dead. _

Gwen was  _ gone, _ the last true defense against the city whose tether they couldn’t seem to master. Matt hadn’t been as sorry as Eddie thought he’d be to see her go - and in her void, no one had yet picked up the mantle of occupational nuisance. They had  _ respite. _

Who said there was no rest for the  _ wicked? _

Which was why they’d fumbled back into Matt’s office, actually - Eddie with dark hands tearing through Matt’s bright poison-dart patterns and rust-colored jacket like tissue paper; Matt unsheathing the katana from its cane just to slit the buttons off Eddie’s blazer. 

They’d slammed into the desk - steel frame; oak top - and Eddie’d found Matt’s legs around his waist, his hand around his cock, his teeth buried sharply in the other man’s neck. They’d knocked down the lamp; the papers waiting for approval, kicked aside the chair. Bathed in the watercolor caress of stained glass backlit by the city spotlights, they consummated success in triumphant synchrony. Matt gasped in his ear as he wrapped himself more tightly around Eddie, urging him  _ in  _ and  _ deeper  _ and  _ faster, _ his hands clawing across Eddie’s shoulders with biting purchase. 

“More,” he moaned faintly. Eddie took too long; apparently, though - as Matt clamped down on his ear with a snarl, hands tightening on his shoulders. “I said  _ more,  _ damn you, or I’ll  _ fucking  _ kill you,  _ oh-- _ ” 

Eddie obliged. Darkness swelled and overflowed as he let the length of his tongue unfurl, drawing a stripe of hot pleasure across Matt’s middle. The hand not occupied with balancing his hips slid up over his chest to wrap a latex-slick hand around his throat. They wanted  _ nothing  _ more than to squeeze more pretty  _ promises  _ out of that throat that never came true.

**_“Tell us you love us,”_ ** they said between panting snarls,  **_“tell us that instead. Kill us with your love, Matthew, DARLING.”_ **

Matt cried out as the pressure built up between them and  _ burst,  _ rocking forward to cling to Eddie as he rode out the shock of so much  _ good  _ at once. Teeth sinking down deep into tissue and flesh, Eddie left his reminder on Matt’s skin as he followed suit, coming and coming down  _ hard,  _ against the desk, against all odds.

When they breathed in the dark, Eddie let it flow back whence it came. Their lips met, more softly, as Matt steadied himself on the taste of blood mingling with vape smoke and champagne. The mix was cotton candy; chemicals, copper, iron, and alcohol. His head swooned from it. His lips rouged from it.

He smiled a vicious smile in the dark. Eddie echoed it much more softly, etching the motion against Matt’s skin so he could  _ feel it. _

“Oh yes,” Matt exhaled after a moment, revelation in every ragged word, “I believe I do love you, Edward…” Eddie shuddered, snarl soft against Matt’s bruised neck.

“And I do believe I’ll keep you alive after all.”


	4. Arguing Like a Married Couple...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [wedding bells blaring in the distance]

###  [ There might’ve been a million lights in the room, but Eddie Brock only had eyes for one. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0LZ4wMV3zw)

He was hand-in-hand with that glow, keeping him close as only a shadow could. Their feet wound around one another; feline and practiced, the delicate dance one they’d been performing long before either of them had ever wound up actually in each other’s arms. 

Matt’s nose brushed his and moved past it, Eddie stooping in to listen to what he had to say. For a moment, he said nothing - then turned to press a kiss to the side of his neck, murmuring faintly:

“You remember that business with the hackers?” Eddie frowned a little, but - nodded almost imperceptibly. “You do. Good. Glad to see you were paying attention, darling.” Matt laughed as he felt Eddie’s pulse tick up irritably, his fingers tightening a little in Eddie’s own. “I’m joking.”

“Ha, ha,” Eddie muttered, well-practiced in their little back-and-forth. Matt’s smile widened.

“Anyway, as I was saying -” They swung in place beneath the tapestry of open bulbs and roses red as Matt’s lenses, the ceiling overhead a series, and Eddie dipped Matt back a little. As rehearsed. As promised. Matt sighed contentedly, chin tilting back as Eddie’s lips caressed the rise of his throat, voice merely a purr: “the hackers.”

“I’m listening, Matthew my love,” Eddie murmured, drawing him upright again. Foot stepped between feet, and they glided to and fro across the black marble floor. Matt grinned lazily, once again close to Eddie’s ear. Somewhere, the violinist continued her sweet notes; smooth as the drinks served at the mahogany bar. All the windows were open to the night air, and the garden nearby was full of idle chatter. 

But the only sound that mattered to Matthew presently was the steady heart that  _ never lied _ to him under his lips. It kept a perfect metronome of honesty, loyalty, and consistency. That was what today was all about, wasn’t it? Honesty. Loyalty. Consistency.

Marriages were like that, or so he’d heard. Somehow he’d never considered - 

“Right,” he said, cool as ever - collected and coy, “so. The Watanabe Hackers. All sixteen of them. Lined up by the old organ. You had them stand in a specific pattern. All of them on-edge, just that...salty  _ fear  _ in the air up on that balcony. And you called me in to sit in the pews. You made up that little space for me, with the…” They turned again, the waltz persisting, and Matt sighed, a snicker creeping into his words.

“The pillows, and the candles, and the  _ slightest  _ cedar essence. Not incense. You knew better.”

“I did,” Eddie replied, in the same soft, mellow tone he almost always had. Matt’s lips caught the corner of his mouth and teeth followed, a little reprimand as much as it was an  _ ask  _ for him to stay silent while he told Eddie the story. Even if he already knew it.

“And you poured me that wine - the silver goblet was a nice touch,  _ really _ , and you went up to that balcony - _ clonk,  _ **_clonk_ ** _ , clonk _ , God, you’re so  _ dramatic, _ I knew you could walk quieter than that, but…” Matt’s tongue darted across his bottom lip; cunning tug at either side of his mouth implicating much without saying anything at all. “You wanted  _ them  _ to hear it. Their executioner.”

He drew a breath in, hand skating up the back of Eddie’s neck to draw him closer by the short hair that’d foregone product - a choice he’d made specifically accommodate Matt; lest the substance prickle his fingers and the scent aggravate his senses. So  _ thoughtful, _ his husband [ _ his husband, HIS husband _ , the triumphant beat of his own heart rose with vengeance]. Matt’s face hurt from the width and ferocity of his grin.

“And I kept thinking why, why,  _ why  _ had you arranged them up there like that? And you went up there, and you  _ read  _ their little  _ laundry list  _ of grievances with me - then you read out every single thing they’d tried to do that  _ you  _ had thwarted…” Eddie spun them in such a way that Matt was pulled flushed against him, and their lips were mere inches apart. At this proximity [and indeed, further off], Matt could  _ taste  _ the chocolate, the champagne, the vanilla, the cinnamon - all the sweet things Eddie and Venom had each savored prior to their little dance together. As one. Three in one. And wasn’t that just the most beautiful blasphemy? Matt smirked, hand sliding down across Eddie’s neck to find his shoulder again.

“And they tried to run - but you were quicker.” A chuckle filtered between them; shared. “And then it became obvious. When you snapped that femur free from Kouichi, I knew...from the first  _ note,  _ I knew - and then you used Shin’s  _ shin, _ which felt a  _ little  _ on the nose for my liking, but - with each dismantled ligament, each snapped tendon, each scream - you hit a note. You’d learned to play the organ for me.” Matt’s voice welled up with fondness, fingers curling in Eddie’s lapel.

“Iron Butterfly. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.  _ Not  _ what I would’ve gone with, but…” Pale fingers shrugged, and Matt tugged Eddie’s tie into place, favoring the little Kabuki-mask tiepin. He felt the oni glare; a silent growl beneath his fingertips. Eddie stole his hand, however, and drew it to his lips as Matt wrapped up the recollection: “it was sweet. You’ve always been so  _ sweet  _ to me, darling…”

“And we caught them all before they could hit the floor so you wouldn’t be disturbed,” Eddie said softly, the violin beyond them still pulling nostalgia and romance from thin air.  _ Dance me to the end of love...  _

Magic, if there was such a thing, existed solely in this room. In the shadows where Matthew Murdock’s smile was brighter and sharper than a Cheshire moon.

“I’ve learned more since then. Jazz variants.” Eddie kissed the corner of Matt’s mouth and muttered, “we should do that again sometime.”

“What, almost collapse my empire on a backdoor software technicality? I think not,” Matt mused - though Eddie nudged his cheek with his nose, and he relented. It  _ was  _ a special night, after all. “I could always be persuaded otherwise.”

“Not with how stubborn you always are.”

“Are you  _ still  _ hung up on that little cold I had back in September?”

“You had a fever of 101.”

“Now we’re truly arguing like a married couple.”

“Objection; barrister is deflecting.” Matt threw his head back and  _ laughed  _ at that, genuine peals of mirth, and Eddie watched the way the golden light caught every corner of his face to gild it perfectly. 

For a moment; one shining moment, they were at peace in the midst of all their wars. Bloody and dangerous as they might’ve been, still they had one another. And, rings on their fingers, sugar on their tongues, dance floor beneath their feet - 

It was enough for two shades to find shelter in each other.


	5. Emphasis on "Bang"...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ENTER HE!!!! The one, the only, the spoiled little Prince of Spartax.  
> Oh, excuse me.  
> Emperor.

###  “Really sweet stuff,” a voice called from across the dance floor. “Honestly, they should write songs about you two.”

Eddie’s hands didn’t leave Matt’s first, though the Kingpin freed himself shortly to unsheathe his blade. Eddie turned; instinctively, to put himself between Matt and any danger - well-aware he could defend himself, of course, but also acutely focused on duties now both marital and professional.

Striding - no,  _ dancing  _ toward them - flanked by two men carrying  _ sizable  _ weapons [“and how the hell did they get in here?” Matthew asked, not particularly bothered, but rather; annoyed]. In a long coat, his coif a perfect swoop of molten gold, the tallest of the group spread his arms with a fond flash of pointy eyeteeth, beckoning with both hands. Eddie straightened up to his own full height and, with very little effort whatsoever, added a protective layer of symbiote under his suit.

“Hey, is that a klyntarian quick-change or are you just happy to see me?” The stranger winked, one hand lifting to adjust the boutonniere on Eddie’s suit, ignoring the baring of fangs. “What is it you Terrans like to say in situations like this? Oh right -  _ mazel tov. _ ” The hand slid away and deftly plucked a champagne flute from the tray passing by, and the grinning, gilded man tossed it back - then shuddered.

“D’ast, you guys drink this swill? It tastes like regret decided to make alcohol.” Eddie opened his mouth to snap for security; or to ask io kill the man and his little posse himself, only to be halted by a pale hand settling on his arm. 

“Darling,” Matt said, so soft and sing-song it was almost inaudible below the cello music, “I didn’t know you hired entertainment.”

“I didn’t,” Eddie growled, composure still held in his face, if not necessarily in his words. “Some clowns just go where they want.” The stranger rasped a laugh at that, pointing at Eddie with both hands.

“That’s  _ good,  _ that’s good. You’re  _ funny, _ ” the stranger drawled - and Eddie caught his hand this time, twisting with warning, when he reached over to pat Eddie’s chest again. “Ooh, and  _ strong, _ ” the blond man said, wriggling in place. Eddie heard the telltale cock and whir of foreign, alien guns turning their sightless gaze on him, and, drawing in a breath, slowly let go.

Rubbing his hand, the man pouted -  _ pouted! _ \- for a moment before glancing back up. Matt set the hilt of his katana gently against Eddie’s shoulder to nudge him back, and, sidling into view, flashed the other man one of his more  _ polite  _ smiles - not even nasty. Pleasant. It was his wedding day, after all. He had a good mood to hold onto.

“Ah, pity. I'm sure we can find some way to make this enjoyable for the both of us. To whom do we have the…” At this point, the smile  _ did  _ start to turn sour; peeling back over even white teeth with all the predatory nastiness of an animal stalking prey. “ _ Privilege  _ of addressing?” Pointed tongue slipping over his bottom lip, Matt seemed to test the air - and Eddie briefly wondered if he was experiencing what Eddie was: the bizarre, inexplicable flavors and scents this man brought with him.

“Oh, that was - you know what, that’s on me,” the man said brightly, hand motioning to the two of them, then cradling his chest. “I should’ve led with introductions. Making so many jumps to this backwater hole just makes my head spin sometimes. Takes a while for the manners to come back. Sometimes I leave’m in warp completely.” The teasing, pointy grin returned as the golden-haired man performed a half-bow more fitting to a lounge singer at the end of a long night; all loose-limbed and bent, then straightened upright.

“Peter Jason Quill; Emperor of Spartax.” The two blank stares he received seemed inconsistent with his usual. Peter blinked a couple of times, then spread his arms with a little twirl. “Theee Emperor of Spartax? Legendary King? No? Nothing?  _ Seriously? _ Fine. Drax? Demonstration.” The big man to Peter’s immediate left fired his weapon into the air - 

And a massive, green-purple nebula bloomed overhead - the sweeping umbrella of which rained fizzling sparks down over the party. Eddie tensed; immediately shifting from human form to klyntarian in an  _ instant.  _ The katana unsheathed in Matt’s hand was held in a white-knuckled grip, his other hand clasping Eddie’s arm,  _ tightly,  _ even in the slick ooze of his shifted shape. The sound of the explosion going off; the shrieking of startled guests, and the subsequent smell of acrid, burning tar that followed silenced the situation rather effectively. Peter lowered his arms, smiling broadly now. His eyes lingered first on Matt’s sword, then on the sight of Eddie-Venom, now brushing up well against eight feet in height, all their sharp edges out to play. They were Matt’s shadow, looming black and terrible. Peter snickered, seemingly delighted. 

“ _ That’s _ what I was looking for. Awe and worshipful attention. Now…” He turned lazily on a heel, sauntering around the married pair. “I came to make a proposal, but it seems you're  _ both  _ married already and; supposedly, Terrans are  _ weird  _ about things like this. Guess I'll have to settle for a proposal of a different sort." Eddie-Venom, their white teeth bared, started to seethe around Matt - but the tap of the katana hilt stopped him again. Matt tilted his head, listening, as Peter continued to twine around them, unbothered. Unhurried. 

"But, if you want, we'll leave....and we'll decimate your entire city, and your pathetic planet, etc...etc..." He rolled his hands as he spoke; face pulled into a mockery of consideration. Hazel eyes ticked down from Eddie-Venom to Matt as he leaned in toward the latter, purring into his ear: "So enjoy your little party while it lasts, gentlemen.”

**_“State what you want or get the fuck out,”_ ** the symbiote rumbled. Peter’s brows lifted as he pulled himself upright, hands sliding behind his back. Rocking on his heels, the Emperor hummed a noncommittal note, head bopping from side to side as if to the now-nonexistent music. Matt was silent; silent in the way he seemed to be thinking something over - not submissive, not by a long shot. Contemplative, maybe. And certainly present.

“I would like to absorb C-53 and the rest of your pathetic galaxy into my empire,” Peter said finally, shrugging facially. “Either you can join me willingly and have the power of the Spartax Empire at your disposal, or you can  _ reject  _ me and I will take your planet by force.” Hazel eyes glittered; almost forsythian in the low light. “Make your choice." 

**_“Matthew my love,”_ ** Eddie-Venom muttered as silence stretched; persistent, between them.  **_“You can’t possibly be cons--”_ **

“We’ll take the deal on one condition,” Matt said abruptly. The blade swiveled in his hand, turning with accusatory edge toward Peter’s throat. Chin lifting, the emperor raised his hands as well, glittering amusement still caught beneath his tawny lashes. Mischief painted every angle of his face a little bit sharper; more devious. He wasn’t at all bothered by the very tangible threat just centimeters from his jugular. Or where Eddie hoped his jugular was.  _ Aliens. _

“The condition being I am in charge of all of this planet’s dealings. This...C-53, as you say. We draw up a contract. Tomorrow. My office. I will look over the details of your arrangement, and God help you if you try to double-cross me…” He licked his bottom lip again; dragging it inward; thinking. “You may not live to return to your empire.” The threat turned the guns on him as Eddie shifted back, shocked beyond measure. Peter waved his men to stand at-ease as the katana slipped away; switched back into its sheath with a soft chime of steel-on-steel. 

“You’re every bit as mean as they say,” Peter crooned, finger tracing the hairline graze the blade left on his skin - before rubbing his fingers together with a slightly unamused press of his lips. “Mm. But I can agree to an official contract. Dot our I’s, cross our T’s…” This he punctuated by booping Matt on the nose with a bloody digit, hand then sweeping out to snag the pocket-square from the Kingpin. Eddie lunged after him, but Matt grabbed his hand this time, loosely cradling his wrist. Peter swept the cloth over the cut on his throat, delicately daubing, as he began to walk away.

“Tomorrow then, gentlemen. Looking forward to our little…” The handkerchief waved. “Business endeavor...synergy...briefcases - what-have-you...the whole shebang.” He tossed them a grin over his shoulder as he sauntered off, brows waggling.

“Emphasis on  _ bang. _ ”

In the dismantled dance space; surrounded by silence and the aftermath of the party, Eddie slowly turned to look down at Matt; still clinging absently to his hand.

“...And here I was thinking things were getting boring again,” Matt murmured, fingers hooking lazily with Eddie’s own after a moment or two. 

“...This doesn’t bother you? Anger you?” Eddie pressed, turning to face Matt more directly. The Kingpin’s expression didn’t change, save for the slightest raise of brows; followed by the shake of his head.

“No, my love.” A small smirk ticked in the corner of his mouth; devilish and scheming. “It’s just a different kind of opportunity. One we’ll look into...together.” His hand squeezed, and Eddie, still not comforted, hardly seemed to breathe. 

“Come now, kiss me on the head, and let’s go home,” Matt said after another lull of considerable silence. Obedient and entirely his, Eddie obliged - pressing a kiss to Matt’s crown; stooping a little to gather the Kingpin into his arms.

Whatever came next, hell, highwater, or a honeymoon in space - Matthew was right. He always was. 

They would at least face this next threat together. 

In sickness and in health, in intergalactic warfare and in...well.

They’d probably never know peace, but - 

To wake up tomorrow wrapped up in Matt’s arms? Eddie’d take it. 

Whatever the cost.


	6. I Abstain From Comment...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jinkies, Eddie it looks like somebody's moving in on your man  
> can we all learn to share nice or is this gonna be Un Problem

###  Life incorporating Peter Quill was...complicated.

To put it mildly.

Eddie found himself oftentimes working the double-duty of maintaining order where Peter frolicked through, sowing chaos. More than one important meeting had been interrupted by the galactic menace bursting through the doors at warp speed, arms outstretched, asking “what cosmic purpose does this serve?” or “why is there no  _ music  _ for these things? BO-RING.” 

Each time, Eddie had dutifully smoothed over the diplomatic hurdles of civility while Matt, irritated beyond belief, had taken to threatening Peter outright.

Regardless of whatever contract they’d signed, there seemed to be more conflict than agreement - such was the way with the Kingpin, anyway, typically, as far as Eddie knew.

It was...other things that worried him more.

There’d been the actual signing of the agreement and discussion of terms [with a very tired Foggy Nelson taking point while Matt sat and stroked his cane like a monarch on his throne of ebony and mahogany], of course. Peter had oh-so-politely commented on the fact that Matt preferred  _ hard _ -copy - “a man after my own heart, everything tangible, I always say” - and Matthew hadn’t really reacted to that. Just a thin tightening of his mouth and a vague lift of his chin.

Peter hadn’t really read over the contract, either - no, he had someone come in and do that for him. That someone happened to be a gargantuan tree, wrapped in vines, with a stoic expression and limited vocabulary - from what Eddie could tell, of course. But Peter and the tree seemed to understand one another perfectly. As such, Groot - the tree - found a few matters for Matt and Peter to squabble over. Mainly the minutiae of things such as “intergalactic travel and trade will be closely monitored in and out of New York specifically” and “all matters pertaining to Earth must involve Matthew M. Murdock and direct associates E.B. and F.N. at any given point”. 

There’d been shouting, pouting [on Peter’s part, apparently an emperor could also be an overgrown man-child], and eventually, they’d come to something they could both concede to - no less than two and a half hours later than originally intended. 

At that point, Matt had ordered everyone except Peter out of the room - even Eddie, though not without first kissing his knuckles and giving him a job to do. “Don’t stick around, darling - I’ve got that nasty business to mop up with the dry-cleaners in Queens.” He’d apparently found himself amusing, because that comment was belied by a wolfish little smile. “It’d be so much more efficient if they’d just clean  _ themselves  _ up, now, wouldn’t it?” Eddie had lingered, just a little, by the door - 

Just long enough to see Matt shove Peter into a chair and tilt his face up by the chin. The door closed as Peter’s face shifted from surprise to an outright devious smirk.

There’d also then been the business a couple weeks after that with the “light-saber incident”. Peter had shown up with a new katana - at least, that’s what Eddie and the security measures he’d personally put in place thought it was. 

It wasn’t until Peter unsheathed the sword, revealing, with a triumphant little smile, the glowing object to be that of a laser more than metal - a gleaming, blood-red force of cold-hot light, buzzing provocatively. It hummed with the promise of carnage, and Matt, stoically sitting behind his desk, simply steepled his hands for a long moment as Peter made soft noises with his mouth -  _ sound effects  _ \- whirling the weapon through the air. It was otherwise an awe-inspiring display of a deft hand and a pinwheel of crimson embers. Eddie had to admit he was...at least slightly impressed.

“You know this does absolutely  _ nothing  _ for me, right?” Matt said abruptly at long last. The little noises sputtered out as Peter’s arm drooped for a moment or two, a fleeting look of dismay flickering across his features. “The noise is abhorrent,” Matt added, starting to get up, stacking papers and shifting folders aside. “It’s like a thousand little wasps. Why on earth would you ever get me something like this?”

“...Well,” Peter said, forcibly plucky in the wake of the miniature tirade, “for the record, I thought  _ maybe  _ you’d like the feeling of the vibration; and the fact it can cut through just about any substance in the known galaxy, but…” He reached for the sheath, frowning. “If you’re going to be like  _ that  _ about it…” 

Matt’s hand shot out to settle over Peter’s wrist without looking at him, and, eyebrow cocked above his glasses, the Kingpin muttered,

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t keep it, Quill.” Glee lit across Peter’s face even more vibrantly than the scarlet gleam, and, sheathing the weapon after a beat when Matt removed his hand, Peter presented it to him with a mock-bow.

“Your Kingpinliness, sir.”

“Do  _ not _ make me test this on you,” Matt growled, and left the room, dual swords in either hand.

Immersing Peter in their work was also not unlike trying to hold an apple down in the water [or a head, if Eddie was thinking more along the lines of what he did on a regular basis]. Peter always popped up at the most inconvenient times, asked a billion questions, sprawled places he shouldn’t, and shook hands not meant for him. 

As such, he ignored almost every single thing in the contract he’d forged with Matt, Foggy, and Eddie - not to mention co-signatures of the Hand and the Spartaxian Empire - making  _ all _ business  _ his  _ business, in ways that he often shouldn’t have. 

It wasn’t until Peter made Matt...laugh, the first time, genuinely, that Eddie figured they’d moved beyond nuisance to something much more sinister.

Peter had an undeniable charm about him. He got people’s attention, and, once he had it, he  _ commanded  _ it, in the sense that he made them think it was their idea to focus on him to begin with. He could make anyone in a room feel welcome in his presence, be it the roll of his shoulders to  _ Redbone,  _ of all things, or to the way his eyeteeth flashed when he smiled.

There’d been a celebratory banquet for the renovation and restoration of a hospital - one that would run scientific testing on advanced medical cures at a surprisingly low-rate. The latest in the expansion of the medical finger of the Hand, so to speak - generously extended and adorned with new cosmic influence, no less. Peter had made a very cheerful toast regarding funding and expenditure, insisting that there was “no illness [we] could not defeat”. He’d winked at Matt when he’d said it, too - a chipper toss of tawny lashes before he had, in turn, tossed back his drink.

That hadn’t earned the laugh - no, that was later. Later, when Eddie was speaking in a low tone to the Kingpin regarding the issues with the Stylers in Harlem. Getting too hot on the streets for their own good. 

“You know what  _ else  _ is too hot for his own good,” Peter had intercepted, propping himself on the edge of the table with a wink and a flash of finger-guns. Eddie didn’t answer, but Matt had sighed, closing the books metaphorically on their conversation with a telegraphed  _ later  _ tapped against Eddie’s wrist.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that it’s you,” Matt said dryly. Peter’s eyes widened, hand lifting to his chest as if to clutch imaginary pearls.

“Oh, Matty, that is  _ very  _ sweet, but  _ I  _ was going to say  _ you. _ Besides, how would you know if I’m hot or not?”

“Edward would inform me,” Matt drawled, and Eddie glanced sidelong at him with a skeptical squint. The slow, smoky curl of a smirk had come back; unfurling a little in the darkened corner of his mouth. 

“Whaddya say, Eddie?” Peter inquired brightly, turning to face him with a grin. Both hands gestured to himself fluidly. “Full package, right?”

“I abstain from comment,” Eddie said coolly, and Peter frowned a little, arms crossing. 

“Well, fine, spoilsport. Listen, Matt - it’s not a party without dancing. People are out there on the dance floor  _ as we speak,  _ and you’re sitting here still going over  _ business. _ ”

“The work doesn’t stop just because you feel like dancing, Peter,” Matt remarked dryly. “How is it you even manage to run your empire?”

“Oh, I have people for that,” Peter fell back on his favorite mantra, waving his hand in a dismissive flick. In the same motion, he turned to offer his palm to Matthew, wiggling his fingers. “But c’mon. One little dance. Just one dance and then you can go back to being a real fuddy-duddy with Chuckles over here.” Eddie, hackles raised, shut his ledger and folded his hands over it with a clench of fingers. Peter smiled at him; all-too-knowingly.

“Matthew my love,” Eddie muttered, dark gaze still fixed on Peter instead, “would you like me to have words with our new associate?” He’d taken to calling Peter that in lieu of his name as often as possible - never once comfortable with the titles or anything so familiar otherwise. His mouth pressed into a thin line, darkness slipping up just under the surface of his skin.

Matt laid a hand on his arm, however, and rose - before prying his grasp away to take Peter’s hand instead. Rather than make his way around the long banquet table, Matt simply stepped up and over, kicking plates and cloches out of the way, but avoiding the goblets of drink. He stepped down, still hand-in-hand with Peter, on the other side. For a moment, the two seemed to study one another - Matt in his fine suit of burnt sienna with paisley pocket-square and black silk shirt, Peter in outlandish periwinkle, gold, and lavender space-regalia with deep tones of royal blue strewn throughout. They were opposites in every way, even in height and expression - Matt’s pensive, more so than usual, and Peter’s utterly  _ ecstatic. _

Eddie, in deep blue and black, not surrounded by the glimmering chandeliers and candelabras, felt a little chill pass through him.

“It’s fine, Edward,” Matt said, smile reappearing with a tick of his mouth. A check mark, crossing something off his list. “I’ve got this. You won’t even miss me. But you better,” he added warningly, the  _ ping  _ of his katana; slightly unsheathed from the cane, echoing the sentiment. Peter set a hand on Matt’s waist, and, without warning, whirled him away into a preemptive, up-tempo waltz, calling:

“Don’t worry, Eddie! I’ll have him back to you before you know it!”

And to Eddie’s amazement, in the unexpectedness of it all…

Matthew was  _ laughing. _

And amidst the gold flakes that fell like a thousand little celebratory stars, Eddie Brock watched the love of his life get swept away properly; dancing with a prince as if in a fairytale. Something ugly and heavy bloomed in his chest; an oil spill, a poisoning of promises. A blade buried deep in his gut. 

That was the first real sign that things were changing. 

Like constellations shifting in the sky for the season, so now would their world, their universe - begin to shift in earnest.


	7. Midnight Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quiet moment between flame and shadow.

“You smell like him.”

In the midnight blue of the unlit room; the shimmering city sparkling behind them like thousands of stars through the wide penthouse window, Matthew shifted on his pillow slightly. He was washed in the moonlight, practically glowing — the freckles on his face showing up like blood under luminal as the beans passed over. Tired eyes half-closed crinkled at the corners, and in a rare moment of tenderness, Eddie felt Matt’s fingers shift across his cheek, tracing the smooth outline of his skin. 

“What?”

“Peter,” Eddie murmured, head craning down to kiss the palm attached to the fingers stroking his jaw. The hand slowed gently, then brushed a stray lock of dark sand back into place. They’d been here for a blessed hour and a half, out of sight, out of mind of anything duty could assign. In their own haven that stretched into the New York night, a castle fit for the Kingpin, they could coexist as rulers of darkness. That included the shadows Matt cupped in his hand, and the black void that chased after the warmth trailing fingers left behind. 

“And what about it?” Matt murmured lazily, nose brushing Eddie’s own. “You prefer my cologne? I could always splash on more.”

“It isn’t that.” Eddie pressed a fleeting kiss to Matt’s wrist as his arm passed over, the Kingpin drawing him closer. Between them, the sheets of high thread count and cooling fibers rustled, a Red Sea whose current drove them closer, rather than part them. Above them, an echo in embers and amber, _ Passion & Anger  _ hung suspended, a different kind of window into a world that awaited them when they chose to rise. It was the summation of Matthew, taken as a prize with the toppling of the big white pieces on the chessboard. A trophy more than anything to the man who saw only flame laced with gold. 

In Eddie’s face, Matt could feel the cinders start to rise — lingering licks of warmth entangled with symbiotic shade. His digits drifted from cool place to cool place, looking to soothe himself in the Venom Eddie had to offer. Two in one and still...still he burned. For so many reasons, Matthew burned hot and angry as a star that refused to die and collapse into blackness. Into silence. Under the palm that furled across Eddie’s throat next, thumb creating the pulse, the jugular. Red things too; sources of life. The only color Matt could see. His preferred hue to paint in, the brushstroke broad and sweeping with his blade. He was a murderous Pollock, he knew — spattering masterpieces unmade by their own foolery across his fine hardwood floor. 

And then where his scarlet light glowed, so behind him flowed his great and terrible shadow. His shadow. No other. 

And then — some new color. Some brighter light. Made him forget the dark. Made him forget the flame. It was the sun without the searing, the sound of music without static or auto-tune that set his teeth on edge; God, how he hated auto-tune. But this — from the stars, came a sweeter song. Cooler light than hellfire. The taste of something he shouldn’t be allowed to have, even when he allowed himself everything and anything, still,  _ still _ ...

“Matthew my love,” Eddie whispered, and it was enough to pull him back from the starry garden and it’s temptations creating rabbit trails of ice rushing through his veins. A fire quenched, just as Eddie had been doing all night. Soothing him. Stroking away the smoke and kneading the coal to diamonds. Love driven to pressure, unbreakable. 

Matt smiled. 

“I’m here, darling...” a finger lifted, again trickling up over Eddie’s face — his nose this time, the sharp shape an edge he knew well. Always slightly raised; poised, the air flowing around that and the other angles of his face with particular defiance. Against all his enemies, there stood his husband. A rock in a tempestuous ring of fire; a sea of unsettled magma. It moved beneath their feet, but Matthew had found solid ground with Eddie. 

Even if Peter made him think; perhaps...at times he could float away from it all. A spark himself carried out of the fires he set because sometimes...they are all he really had. 

“You say I smell like him.” He felt the nod; the waves of cortisol and sweat amphibious in their slickness, rolling toward him in the gloom. His lashes fluttered, and Matthew nuzzled closer to Eddie, nose brushing nose. “This bothers you?” The silence was an answer unto itself. Matt kissed the nose he’d touched moments prior; the furrowed brow till the lines gave way, the lips till, even if they didn’t smile, relaxed somewhat. 

“Hold my face, sweetheart,” Matthew commanded mildly. At once, obedient, coal reacted to heat, and Eddie’s strong hands held him fast. Matt sighed with contentment, settling into the pockets of frosted abyss. 

“If you don’t like it, cover me with your scent instead. Like animals, then. Going back to the wilderness.” Eddie still said nothing, despite Matt’s faint huff of a laugh, and the mirth died short as the breath it came on. 

“...tell me what you want,” Matt murmured, more serious again. In the red haze they both occupied, Eddie moved, fingers fanning to engulf Matt in long black claws. Cradling his head now, Eddie started to answer — but the words couldn’t beat the clock. Nor the beeping insistence of a phone now off silent, or the corresponding buzz on the side table that rattled in Matt’s bones. The urgency of their efforts called. 

For where fire bloomed, the shadow followed. 

“To be continued,” Matthew murmured — and pressed a searing kiss to Eddie’s forehead. He sat up away from Eddie’s touch and began to slide off the bed to get dressed, scars and freckles on his back blending like the etching of wings. Eddie trailed after him, even as Matt ascended and left him in the darkness. 

Never for long. He could still hear him, humming some soft, saccharine song as he plucked one of his many outfits Eddie himself put together from the closet. Electric Light Orchestra, Eddie realized. It’d been a long time since he’d heard any of that. 

“Don’t be long now, lover,” Matt called from the bathroom, water rushing to follow his words, “we’ve got work to do.”

Of course they did. Eddie drew back the blankets and, once risen, laid them flat again. Tucked them in. Made them neat. Everything in order. All things the same. 

The scent remained, staining the air. Salt and sugar. Mingling, clinging. 

And as he headed off to cloak himself in something suitable to offset Matt’s fury — already shouting into his phone in preemptive, damning brimstone — all Eddie could think was perhaps the smell of Peter, everywhere and nowhere at once, wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d thought. 

And that alone was a troubling thought to be filed away. For later. For another night, perhaps. 

There would always be another, so long as they had their fire.


	8. Skipping Right to Dessert...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter isn't one to ever quit when he wants something. Eddie, not nearly as stubborn as he thinks he is, might've met his match.  
> For everything else, there's Tom Jones.  
> No, I will not apologize for that.

###  That fire kept burning even on the nights Matthew kept busy. 

The Kingpin has his court to attend to, after all — an entire Hand to keep tightly controlled. What it reached for, where it wandered — all of that was his business, and some of that took him away from even Eddie. Only for a short amount of time, and, if he needed to, Eddie could be with Matt within a matter of moments, shadows being his preferred method of transport when not in the Lamborghini or the Rolls with Matthew, of course. 

And on the subject of courses, and a drive to succeed, Eddie had deigned to get to know Peter Quill; Emperor of Spartax, by means of a meal and some music. Things he’d heard were a universal language, after all — he’d curated a selection of tunes from the library he and Matthew kept in the loft, the broad space occupied by goods they shared an interest in. Save the record Eddie has stubbornly kept despite the bemusement [and perhaps a little  _ judgment _ ] from Matthew [ _ “Tom Jones?” _ ].

Phone on loud [and vibrate], Eddie stood at the kitchen counter, sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to the elbow under an apron and vest, putting the finishing touches on dinner. He’d debated for a while what to make for Peter that’d also keep for Matthew by the time he got home — and settled [sort of], for a four-course meal. 

The first was a trio of ravioli, butternut squash tossed in garlic butter with sage and shavings of Parmesan. The artisan who’d sold him the cheese was a first-generation Italian who was gnarled as an old tree and always asked after  _ your nice partner, Edward.  _ Matthew kept the business far from Giovanni’s threshold — on the grounds that the man had little [“a little, Edward — but never  _ none _ ”] leverage or movement in the community, and the Kingpin’s people were already his suppliers. 

Fresh arugula and chopped peppers drizzled with lemon-honey dressing and thick slices of beefsteak tomatoes roasted on the edge of the open flame followed the appetizer, pink peppercorn-baked crostini atop it in lieu of croutons. The lettuce was provided by a silent grocer who never looked Eddie in the eye — most people didn’t, when he wore his blacker-than-black suit that told the world he was its undertaker; his chiseled features drawn into hard, thin lines that said just how sorry he wasn’t that they had to deal with him. Their interactions were brief, and so long as nobody acted too squirrelly and set off his watchdog senses, they’d all be fine. 

After that, it was Port-soaked rack of lamb, tenderly placed over a bed of baby potatoes roasted in rosemary and olive-oil. The butcher [who doubled off the clock as one of the Kingpin’s primary enforcers] only ever had jokes for Eddie when he showed up to make purchases — some he let slide, but others [“ _ did you hear about the guy who badmouthed the King? He got a royal tongue-lashing! _ ” Followed by the waggling of a cow’s tongue and a mad cackle, for example] were met with hardened silence. This time had been something innocuous, so Eddie saw fit not to bequeath the man any unnecessary nightmares. The lamb was good stock and that was good enough for him. No other transaction required. And certainly no cursory laugh for his attempted humor. 

Dessert was a usual with a twist — dark chocolate flourless lava cake wherein the center was a strawberry sauce with chopped berries adrift within it; double-chocolate dipped. A decadent, cloying masterpiece that, when severed, spilled like blood across the plate with an artistry that made the mouth water. He’d learned the technique from a now-deceased patisserie chef in the Upper East side of the city — one that served his purpose and promptly died — as his usefulness ended the moment laundered money began to disappear. But Eddie has milked him for his usefulness and tied up all loose ends before the restaurant closed — it ran for a week after his death to avoid suspicion. Eddie was able to fill in most effectively for the other man; disguised and fluid in his creation of desserts. And so he’d taken that with him. When the time was right. 

Just as it was now.

The bell sounded, just as the finishing touches had been placed upon the dishes; set on the table of mahogany stretching before the starriest view available to the city [ _ “Wasted on me,” _ Matt scoffed every so often, not without a note of smugness to his words]. Eddie, dusting off his hands, waved additional security off as he exited the kitchen, striding to the front door with an eerie level of efficiency — determined to answer it himself. 

When he did, Eddie found himself greeted by Peter Quill in his complete regalia; a gaudy, flashy royal ensemble of Spartaxian threads, a coat so long it might’ve been a cloak, and a million glittery adornments. The taller man straightened up from where he’d been leaning against the door, giving Eddie a very obvious once-over with delight in his greenish-gold eyes. 

“You look  _ adorable. _ ” The comment caught Eddie off-guard enough to bring heat to the tips of his ears, blue gaze flitting across Peter’s face. Wordless in response, Eddie simply stepped aside to gesture Peter inside to the glow of candles and hearthlight, the scents of food mingling in the air. Tom Jones continues to play quietly from the kitchen as Eddie shut the door and locked up behind them both, security details lost to the dark. 

Whistling quietly, Peter turned on his heel to look around the loft, sandy brows lifting. “Nice digs. Good mix of the two of you, I’d say. And me,” he added with delight, eyes lighting up at the sight of how clear the stars were from up here. Eddie folded his hands behind his back and waited by the table; patient for a beat or two. 

Then:

“Your eminence, if you’d please have a seat —”

“Peter, Eddie, you can just call me Peter,” the Emperor declared, pivoting toward the table with renewed enthusiasm, crooked smile slanted across his face. Eddie hesitated, then dipped down to pull a chair out for Peter, inclining his head. 

“Peter. Please be seated.”

“Whoa-hoh, getting all official on me even now.” Peter hit the chair like a sack of straw, scarecrow limbs sprawling half-over the throne-like arms, perching sideways in a slouch. Grinning up at Eddie as the bodyguard moved away, Peter did swivel to sit more like a person; attentively interested when the raviolis made their way to the table, napkin and utensils joining with a glass of white wine. “Oh,” Peter said mildly, “I don’t normally—it’s just, your Terran beverages aren’t exactly…” he trailed off at the sight of Eddie’s face, blinking a little. 

“It pairs,” Eddie murmured pointedly, and settled down across from Peter at the table. The seat at the head remained unoccupied — save for Peter’s brief attempt to put his feet on it, which was met with a glare so black and terrible that even he knew better than to try that again — at least while the other man was looking. 

“So what’s this all about, Eddie?” Peter inquires, cutting sideways into the ravioli with his fork, rather than use the knife at all. Eddie watched Peter’s elbows strike the table, finesse apparently forgotten, and furrowed his brows in bafflement, still angling himself at ninety degrees per arm; neatly cutting the ravioli each into bite-sizes pieces. 

“This is in regards to your arrangement with my employer. My husband,” Eddie said, popping a morsel into his mouth and; chewing, gazed unblinkingly at Peter. This time, after shoveling food into his mouth with zeal Eddie hadn’t seen in a while from … anyone he could think of, actually. Brows knitting further, Eddie waited for Peter to swallow — which he did with the entirety of the wine; the Zinfandel sloshing away into an overeager maw. 

“...that wasn’t terrible,” Peter said, smacking his lips slightly before setting the glass back down. Eddie brought another forkful to his mouth, eyes still on Peter. “And for the record, you can check the arrangement yourself. It exists in digital, physical, and Braille format as requested.” A lofty look crossed Peter’s face as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, smiling a little after the fact. “You’re not  _ jealous _ , are you? Because I can assure you, I have every intention of—!”

“It’s not that,” Eddie cut in, crossing his utensils and folding his hands, tensely clasping. He realized too late he’d forgotten to remove his apron, but that was the least of his embarrassment at present. Peter was looking at him bemusedly again, finishing off the ravioli with a carefully-composed chomp or two. Silence touched down, then flitted away again as Peter swallowed, offering a tittery laugh. 

“What is it, then? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I need to know that you have Matthew’s best interests at heart. Even if this is a business deal, even if it’s courtship.” Peter’s eyes flickered with something in the candlelight that Eddie couldn’t decipher. Surprise, maybe. He rose from the table to begin gathering their plates to prepare for the second course, muttering, “his well-being matters most to me right now and always. Your assurance to me personally would be invaluable.”

Starting to turn, Eddie found himself stopped by a hand on his forearm. Peter locked eyes with Eddie as the other glanced down, then rose beside him, chair nudging backwards and nearly upending. 

“Eddie,” Peter said, more gently than expected, somehow. “You really don’t get it, do you?” 

Eddie began to bristle at that, but before he could fire back, found his trajectory in clearing the table intercepted. Peter stole the dishes back and tossed them haphazardly onto the runner, resulting in a startled dart of eyes between himself and the stoneware. One hand seized Eddie’s own, the other unhooking the apron from around his neck to cast that aside as well. 

“Don’t — what are you doing?” Eddie asked faintly, hair a little upset by the sudden removal of the apron. Wide cobalts blinked up at him, and Peter offered Eddie a refreshed grin. 

“Relax, Eddie. Ask me what you want to ask. But there’s music. There’s starlight. And candles. So thoughtful.” He was all but crooning the words as he seized Eddie by the waist and hand, twirling him away from the table. Eddie stumbled, nearly digging in his heels, and frowned outright; flustered. “We should be  _ dancing. _ ”

“Peter — there’s — I made more food. It’ll—”

“It’ll keep,” Peter scoffed, twirling them in place, a quicker pace than before.  [ _ I know that it’s late and I really just leave you alone… _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLX-XZvz9iI) Tom played on from the kitchen, filling the space with song. Peter’s lips curved as he peered down at Eddie, brows waggling. “Good choice by the by. Can never go wrong with a little Tom Jones. Really sets the mood.”

“I was feeling interrogative,” Eddie countered flatly, trying in vain to steal the lead. Peter laughed a husky laugh, eyes twinkling. 

“First time I’ve heard it called  _ that _ before...but to each their own. Ask me some questions and I’ll try not to lie,” he added teasingly, twisting them around. Eddie almost staggered, feet finding the floor more evenly after Peter nearly spun them both off it. That’s what it felt like, at any rate — the emperor was shockingly light on his feet. 

“If you intend to court Matthew,” Eddie said slowly as they circled one another on the impromptu dance floor, “have you considered his particularities with respect and understanding that he will be unwilling to compromise?” Peter blinked, eyes bouncing a little from place to place on Eddie’s face as if navigating some quaint sing-along. The realization clicked into place, however, and Peter smiled knowingly after a beat.

“Yes, of course...I like a little fire, now and then,” the emperor remarked - and maneuvered them both in such a way that Eddie wound up tilted toward the floor. Eddie blinked, one hand fleetingly lifting to clutch Peter’s bicep, the one in his grip tightening slightly. He was - being dipped, Eddie acknowledged belatedly. Well - better that than  _ duped,  _ he figured. Peter’s pulse was steady, if quick from their lively tango-waltz hybrid. Matt had taught Eddie what to look for in a  _ liar. _

They gave off a certain  _ stench,  _ too, after all. Usually the stink of  _ fear. _

But Peter was unafraid - especially in his element, which seemed to be entertainment. Activity.  _ Dancing. _

“And--” Eddie said, once he’d regained his words in the wake of his new position, “you will be patient? He requires patience. You will need much.” He said it with all the love in his heart, though the tone remained flat and poised. A baffled glimmer shimmered to life in Peter’s eyes, the source still an enigma to Eddie. Shaking his head, Peter drew him back upright slowly.

“Mm…” Their cheeks met as Peter smoothly stepped in closer, now pulling Eddie flush against himself.  _ Love Me Tonight  _ gave way to  _[Delilah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qvo5SeAwz88),  _ and the doleful element of the song drew their footsteps together. Still quick, back-forward, back-left, forward-back, forward-right - but nearly one; intertwining. Royal purple like lavender on steroids met silky black and crisp white.They clashed magnificently, Eddie thought. Peter, on the other hand, though they played off one another rather well.

“I’ll certainly try my best,” Peter murmured directly into Eddie’s ear. Eddie faltered in his line of questioning when he felt the pressure of Peter’s face pressed against his, then inhaled to steady himself, saying with care, 

“I will be retained as Matthew’s personal guard. That is  _ not  _ a request. Nor is it a question,” he felt Peter’s nose nudge his cheek; a scalding streak of physical affection that sent a prickle down his ramrod-straight spine. “If you disagree,” Eddie whispered hoarsely, then cleared his throat, “say so now.” His voice stayed purposefully soft and slow.

Peter adjusted their clasped hands to be closer;  _ tighter  _ and let his lips graze Eddie’s ear before he spoke: “and what if I wish you to be mine, as well?” The playfulness was gone, now - almost. It was overridden, at least, by a warmth Eddie hadn’t expected. Then again, none of this had gone according to plan at all in the slightest.

Typical of Peter goddamned  _ Quill. _

Eddie felt something then that he hadn’t in a long while; if ever, which was a weakening in his knees that made him hold Peter just a little more tightly than before. 

And, after a beat, he said faintly, pulling back to brush noses with Peter, “by my assessment, no force on this or any other world could deter you, your highness.” It had been as such from his wedding night till now - Peter fell to Earth, to  _ Terra,  _ like a comet that left a crater full of glitter behind - blazing, infectious, impossible to ignore. Shiny.  _ Distracting. _

Like how in the light of the candles Eddie could see just how tawny-green his eyes were, a caldera of life in leafy trees, endless sunny days and the sparkle of tomorrows. He lived  _ easy. _ He lived  _ free. _ And he lived  _ well. _ All of this despite of, or because of his titles and prestige, Eddie wasn’t sure. He should’ve stayed incorrigible, deplorable, intrusive, and a problem to be resolved, but - 

Peter didn’t reply at all [other than a devious smile], then slowly leaned in for a kiss.

Eddie could only find himself frozen - because goodness knows he hadn’t kissed anyone outside of Matt in...ever. Before Matt there’d been a void, one that had none of his bloodied affections - no tally marks, no crimson kisses, no nights of desperate, blazing need that broke headboard and desk alike. And yet, little by little, his mouth opened and Eddie let Peter in beyond sharp teeth sliding across the emperor’s bottom lip. Confusion and a swoop in his stomach nearly made him withdraw, but Peter’s hand found the scar of his hip through his pants and Eddie almost buckled completely. The swelling music, the scent of cooked food, the way he had to tilt back slightly to meet the way Peter leaned in - captivated him.

He was a creature held in the delicate balance of conquer vs. domestication. He could bite down and take Peter’s treacherous tongue, or - 

Eddie slipped in his own, sinuous and supple, to rake across Peter’s. There was an outright  _ moan  _ against his mouth, and Eddie closed his eyes, letting the taste of his own cooking and the vague ferment of wine wash over him. With that came earlier sweetness, candies snacked on from the walk over, no doubt. 

There were many things Eddie found odd about himself; anomalies to his character, so to speak - an insatiable sweet tooth being one of them, especially now. Peter had sugar and the sugar called to Eddie, honeyed phrase and flavor alike. He clung to it all - hungry for more.

There was a distant sound of someone — a familiar someone — bickering on the phone, and Eddie withdrew from Peter [who chased after him with a few sloppy kisses against his jaw, velvet clashing against granite and diamond]. Eddie’s eyes locked on the door before he freed himself from Peter’s grasp completely, a shiver of trepidation and guilt — guilt! Him, of all things, feeling  _ that _ — coursing through time. 

Matt blew in over the threshold, a vision in scarlet and florals, his cane-katana over a shoulder, the other wedging his phone against an ear. “What? Don’t be  _ ridiculous, _ I think tonight went fine, don’t you? No, I haven’t the foggiest — yes, it’s a joke at your expense, not my fault that’s what you choose to go by…” Matt trailed off as he headed for the kitchen, and Eddie broke away from Peter completely to follow — but not without making a quick detour to move Matt’s shoes to the rack from where he’d dropped them without ceremony to the floor. 

By the time he’d gotten to the kitchen, Eddie found Matt with a finger buried in one of the lava cakes, the order of the meal abandoned in favor of the pursuit of pleasure. Chocolate and strawberry ran together before Matt lifted his fingers to lick them clean around the dismissal sent Foggy’s way:

“I’m not saying you work too much, sweetheart, I’m just saying you should  _ really _ put yourself first for a change. Go for a spa day, or something. On my tab, obviously. Same time tomorrow then.” Matthew managed to hang up before a groan shuddered free of his throat. 

“Christ, Eddie, are you trying to kill me? This is so…” he popped a thumb out of his mouth before wiping it on a napkin, shoulders shimmying with a shiver of pleasure. “ _ Decadent. _ Peter, you’ve got to try some of this.”

“Oh; skipping right to dessert?” Peter slithered last Eddie to join Matt in the kitchen, smiling brightly. He scooped some of the lava cake innards into his mouth with a hand, and Eddie made a face of mute despair in the wake of such desecration. All his plans; his rituals, his efforts — wasted in the wake of two men who now stood before him like a choice he didn’t want to make. As fate would have it, however; he wouldn’t need to. 

“Good to see you two are finally getting along,” Matt said dryly, taking his plate of dessert to saunter off toward the dining area. Peter matched him, stooping in to clip a kiss against Eddie’s temple as he strode by. The other man froze anew, glued to the entrance to the kitchen. 

“Hey, I was waiting on Edward here to get the memo,” Peter chirped good-naturedly. Heart ramming against his rib cage, Eddie turned to glance back at the table. Peter wiggled his fingers Eddie’s way, expression beyond cheeky. “That you can have your lava cake and eat it too.”

“Fucking terrible,” Matt commented without a trace of venom to his words. Peter laughed, cutting through his slice of cake to let it spill like Matt’s had. “Edward, darling, don’t lurk by the doorway. Grab your plate and come sit with us. Be civilized.” Matt smiled slyly his way as Eddie, obedient to the last where Matt was concerned, finally marched over, sitting opposite Peter and at Matt’s right hand, close enough that their rings could touch if they wanted them to. 

“We’ve got details to discuss,” Matt said calmly, “I have news. It will require both of you.” Sightless amber eyes rose up from behind rose-tinted glasses trimmed in intricate gold. Their attention held; Peter’s tenuous and Eddie’s drilling; Matt spoke on, smile tugging at the wickedest corner of his mouth:

_ “Have either of you heard of the Eternity Forge?” _


	9. Like a covenant of lovers...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner turns into banter, banter turns into bickering, and before you know it, you're knee-deep in the fine print with the Devil himself.

###  “The _Eternity Forge,_ ” Peter echoed, both brows lifting toward the heavens. “You can’t be serious, Matty.”

“ _ Matthew, _ ” the Kingpin corrected sharply, hands shrugging as he settled back to pour himself some wine, “do I look like I’m joking?”

“Well -” Peter had no intention of finishing his jab, but the blade under his chin deterred further comment. Swallowing as the tip of the katana traced over the lines of his high-collared jacket, Peter waited for the danger to pass - even if the flush of satisfaction that came with it refused to dissipate.

“Thought as much,” Matthew muttered, blade swiveling in his hand to behead the cork from the bottle of wine. Eddie didn’t have the heart to tell Matt there was an open bottle three feet to his left on the side table. Chances were, he knew - and where Eddie Brock allegedly lacked heart, he made up for in self-preservation.

“I take it you’ve heard of it, Peter,” Matt stated matter-of-factly. Nodding a little, Peter swallowed, reaching for his fork again, strawberry and chocolate oozing across his plate. 

“Who hasn’t? I mean, other than Terrans, but then again, your flarking technology and mysticism is all -” He paused, remembering his audience, and adopted his Most Charming and Political Smile. “...So quaint,” Peter scrunched his nose, voice and shoulders each inching a little bit higher with the final remark. “Point is, up there -” the dessert fork swiveled upward, “you’ll find that a lot of people have heard of the Eternity Forge. But few have ever actually  _ seen it. _ ”

“Well - what if I told you we’ve got a group of people interested in obtaining it?” Matt asked mildly. Eddie, looking between the two men as if watching a rapid chess match, furrowed his brow. Peter blinked, tongue dabbing over the scar on his bottom lip where the fudgy chocolate had caught.

“...I’d... _ say  _ they’d be crazy. The price that comes with that thing far outweighs the benefits. Or...so I hear,” he added, shrugging facially and picking at his dessert again. Matthew narrowed his eyes, more for emphasis; of course, than anything else - and nodded. Slowly.

“The Hand requires it,” he said instead, pouring his wine, “our supplies are running low. We need to take stock of other options. The Forge came up as one such viable alternate avenue.” Each syllable was punctuated purposefully - Matt settling the bottle aside before swirling the glass. His nose flinched, but he sipped regardless - a little too sharp for his tastes; as most wines were. Too reminiscent of long-forgotten communions and promises he’d broken. In another life, that might’ve bothered him.

In another life, perhaps it did.

“How viable? Just...out of curiosity. Like you know where it is and you’re negotiating for it?” Peter inquired, steepling his fingers in what he could only assume was a proper political posture. Eddie lifted a brow, then, carefully extracting a napkin from under Peter’s elbow, swabbed the side of his face to free it from a streak of strawberry-chocolate. “Oh - thanks, baby,” Peter smiled Eddie’s way and the bodyguard paused mid-maneuver, malfunctioning internally for a myriad of reasons.

Pressing on, Peter leaned forward a little more, staring Matt down - even as the Kingpin busied himself with a bite of cake. 

“How viable?” Peter repeated himself, and Matthew, unbothered, unhurried, unamused - simply licked a little bit of the sauce from his fingers, slowly sucking them clean. Peter’s eyes went half-lidded, and Eddie poured himself a refreshed glass of wine, determinedly focusing on the dinner that was going cold on the table before him. He’d eat in order, even if no one else would. He’d had a separate dessert wine prepared but - ah, it hardly mattered. 

“Given your reactions, I’d say highly viable,” Matthew said when he popped his fingers free. Peter shivered slightly, adjusting in his seat, head lifting. Apparently he hadn’t realized just how far he’d leaned in till Matt was mere inches away.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your emphasis, the way your heart rate accelerated on the topic, the slight change to your smell…” Matt wiped his hands on a napkin and shrugged with his mouth, glasses winking in the candlelight. “It all leads me to believe you or someone you know; most likely a close and trusted advisor well-paid by your empire to  _ stay  _ close and trusted, is in possession of the Eternity Forge - an artifact that, when used, can raise just about anyone from the dead.”

“At a price,” Peter countered, sidestepping the rest of the accusations with a near-audible swoop of drama. “The price isn’t worth the use of the item. Besides, there are other methods-”

“There are?” Matt asked mildly, a hand under his chin. Peter stopped himself, eyes narrowing. Eddie, dutifully finishing his appetizer at long last, rose to begin moving plates. Matthew raised his cane to gently touch Eddie’s forearm, however, driving him back down into his seat with care - not even bothering to look his way.

“Not without signing another treaty or contract renegotiating the terms of our engagement there aren’t,” Peter fired back, not entirely sure the sentence made sense, but it was too late now. Matt laughed; delighted, the laughter lines on his face painting him in a light that was almost-merciful.

For all of three seconds, really.

“Our contract states in subsection A-34BC100 that through the channels of proper and appropriate communication, henceforth therein the intergalactic means of discussion covers all matter of trade, tariff, and reasonable purchase enterprise. This includes, but is not limited to, our preferred needs for success, such as -” Matt mimed unrolling a little scroll, tracing the air with a finger. “Elements from Terra’s chemical and geological makeup useful in powering your weapons and ships, and elements from the cosmic sectors in return.”

“The Forge isn’t an element, though,” Peter countered, brows furrowing. Matt’s smile only grew.

“Anything in reality is an element, as the term is interchangeable with item or part.” Peter’s mouth fell open. Behind Matt, the candlelight cast his shadow into something distorted; gleefully flickering. If Eddie hadn’t looked again, he might’ve sworn it had horns. 

“You...sneaky flarkin’ bastard,” Peter said - and something slipped in his voice, away from the high-and-cocky loftiness; something warmer and much more grounded to the words. Matt must’ve caught it, too, Eddie realized - from the telling tick of his head and the flinch of his lips, tongue darting over the bottom one after the fact. “You used language as a loophole.” Peter’s smile reappeared on his face; wolfish and bright as the moon. “But that doesn’t mean I have to tell you  _ anything. _ ”

“I think you will,” Matt commented idly, finishing his glass of wine, “because if you don’t, I will put a chokehold on your trades with Chinatown and tell Stark your industry is bankrupt, so he won’t be paid.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Peter frowned. Matt only raised his brows and the refilled glass of wine [before Eddie had finished pouring for him, thus causing him to rise from his seat to do so].

“I most certainly would. I have those protocols on speed-dial. Don’t test me, your highness.”

Fuming, Peter settled back into his seat with a stroppy slither, nearly oozing onto the floor. Eddie instinctively put a hand out in an effort to stop his descent, but was met with Matthew instead reaching for his hand, drawing it to his lips.

“Care to weigh in, darling?” he asked, and Eddie felt his throat close. Peter’s eyes; twin jaspers of disapproval, shot his way. Matt, his smile as honeyed as his gaze, kissed the side of Eddie’s palm, pressing his cheek against his flesh. Black veins bloomed, symbiote signaled to protect, and clawed fingers caressed back into place a few strands of copper, cradling Matt’s features thereafter.

“...Not really my place,” Eddie deflected. Matt doubled down, catching Eddie’s hand before it could slide away, and drove his teeth into the heel of his hand, working his way up to gnaw the thumb. Eddie sat motionless; blinking owlishly, the black slick surrounding his digis receding. Under the careful ministrations of a mouth that always ran like a sniper rifle; deliberate and precise in its targeted rounds, he melted slightly. 

“Your place is with me,” Matthew informed Eddie flatly, “and therefore, it  _ is  _ your place. I’m requesting your feedback. Please provide input.” Eddie glanced from Matt to Peter, then back again.

“If it is written in the contract, regardless of interpretation, it’s official.” Matthew  _ grinned,  _ and Peter scrunched his face in a silent snarl of disapproval, arms crossing over his chest.

“I still think it’s underhanded.”

“Welcome to the party,” Matthew quipped, withdrawing from Eddie’s hand after pressing a kiss to the skin, “glad you could finally make it.” Peter kicked in Matt’s general direction as he sat up, and the Kingpin calmly avoided a blow from one of those long, long legs. “Now - I’d like all the data you have on the Eternity Forge promptly by tomorrow morning. Have your officials overnight it. We’ve a dinner my poor husband’s worked on that’s going to waste.”

“Even if I give you the data,” Peter said, starting to scramble out of his seat and get to his feet, “you won’t know how to use the d’ast thing. It’s - it’s complicated. You need expert input.”

“Well, you’ll do in a pinch, I suppose,” Matthew commented, motioning with his fork. Eddie rose to go swap out their plates, the dishes still all out of order, but - he brought Peter his meal, and Matthew his appetizer nonetheless. By the time he returned from the kitchen, Peter and Matt were locked in heated whispers, all but hissing like a couple of cornered cats.

“Fine. So you get the Forge. You get the expert. You start using it. Are you really willing to pay any price for immortality?” Matt cocked a brow over the top of his glass at Peter, murmuring back:

“You haven’t asked me the cost of dragon bones and a dozen human lives. I know each receipt, I know the tallies, I know the burden on the human spirit that comes with all of that. And I compartmentalize. I suggest you do the same.”

“For every life you return,” Peter said flatly, “a life is  _ taken. _ ”

“What part of ‘a dozen human lives’ did you miss?” Matthew made a face as Eddie set the dinner food down before them both, and, shaking his head, finished off his second glass of wine. Peter scowled outright, the stormcloud on his face still more of a pout than anything actually menacing. “Thank you, sweetheart,” Matt added sidelong to Eddie as the enforcer once again took his seat. Peter set his chin in his hand, drumming his fingers against the side of his face.

“It’s entirely random, you know,” he added abruptly before dropping in to start cutting up the food Eddie’d brought him, “it could be Eddie or myself in this situation. Say - stars forbid - you were the one to die -” 

“Not going to happen.”

“That’s why I  _ said _ \- you know what, never mind. My point is - you come back and one of us is gone. That’s the lottery you’re pulling from.”

“There’s billions upon billions of souls in the galaxy,” Matt intoned dryly. “What makes you think it’d be someone close to me?” Peter searched his face for a long moment before responding, his voice placid. Controlled.

“Because the distribution of energy is the only thing that makes sense. But if you’re calling someone back from beyond the grave from any point in time and space, it probably varies more. Like if you want, I dunno, the man who invented bologna back, then some other correlation happens. It’s random, but it might not be, is what I’m saying.”

“Again, a gamble worth taking,” Matthew said - though his hand flinched slightly closer to Eddie. Not his usual kind of tell. Eddie glanced down, then, looking away again, linked their pinkies together. The uneasy fidget to Matt’s fingers faded away, and the Kingpin settled in to enjoy his appetizer.

“Tomorrow morning. Information, Peter.”

“Fine,” the emperor griped, swinging back in his seat with a shrug of his hands. “Can’t blame me for trying to warn you, though. Food’s good, Eddie,” he added, flashing Eddie a smile that, if Eddie didn’t know better, might’ve read as  _ apologetic. _

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly, and released Matt to return to his own plate. Awkward silence settled, save for the record still playing Tom Jones in the kitchen’s not-so-far distance. There was clinking, munching, and a chorus of other sounds so small only Matt noticed them - but they drove him up the wall nonetheless, the tension of the moment unparalleled. And he knew exactly why.

“Alright - onto another matter of business,” Matt said, shifting the plate he’d all but decimated in his efforts to eat quickly aside - he hadn’t realized how  _ starving  _ he was until presented with food [ _ typical, _ Eddie thought]. “Our contract binds Peter and I as...colleagues. But I believe we could work more effectively; closer.” Eddie’s gut shifted uncomfortably; a sinuous movement not unlike his symbiote, but Venom, silent as ever lately, just furled up tighter in his chest. Or perhaps that was his heart. Whatever it was, it skipped a beat; and Eddie’s temperature dropped a full two degrees.

“Nervous, Eddie?” Matthew pursed his lips, the snide tone gone from his voice in an instant. Trying to find the words proved difficult - more so since he’d acquired the klyntarian structure, no less. For a moment, his head was a series of scrambled symbols and energy, signals broadcasting back and forth between symbiote and host. Nothing in English, nothing that made sense. Eddie merely fidgeted, fixing his tie, and bowed his head. Matt’s expression darkened with a shadow of concern - then it faded, back to neutral indifference again. 

“Change is always difficult,” he noted, seemingly to himself. Peter, picking at his food, finally took a bite, chewing. “VERY difficult, at times,” Matt said, raising his voice a little to drown out the wet chomps and smacks that most likely only bothered him. “But I think it would be best to consider our coordinated efforts more...intimately.”

“How so do you mean?” Eddie asked before he could stop himself. Matt raised a brow, folding his hands with a flick of his thumbs, head bobbing.

“I’m inferring that we add a more physical connection to this arrangement. You and Venom; Peter, and myself. Foggy, if he’s so inclined, though the poor dear’s working himself to death on all of our accounts lately. Not that we’ve been lax. Business just happens to be…” His mouth popped with emphasis on the last word: “ _ booming. _ ” His smirk; absolutely diabolical, left no room for argument to the contrary.

“...Where does it say any of  _ that  _ in our contract?” Peter asked coyly, lids half-lowering. This topic he could get behind - dangerous artifacts and Collectors’ items? Forget it. He’d much rather indulge in the playboy side of things, dabbling accordingly. This felt more official, somehow - whether from the way Eddie instantaneously broke out in a cold sweat, or the way Matt idly swept a hand through the nearest candle, toying with the flame. The room around them flickered; warm and comforting. For a moment, between the good food and the company, it was almost normal. Cinematic. Peter sank into it.

Then -

“It doesn’t, but I’m happy to write an appendix in. Though I could just as easily piece together the threads from other lines as before.”

“Oh, so you’ll write an appendix for that, but not for our trade tariffs and guidelines of exchange.”

“Well, yeah, your eminence, because those are a bitch to write back up in a new format...” 

Eddie felt their chattering din decay away around him, gazing down at his plate without really seeing it. Things changed. No matter the perimeters, the contracts, the orders, the affirmations - things had to stay fluid to survive in their world. Like a symbiote. Like the oil industry. Like anything remotely liquid; cash had to flow, and so did blood when the payment was due. Inhaling slowly, Eddie drew himself upright, hands flexing on either side of his plate. In the dim blues and hot golds of the space; offset by the red of Matthew and the purple of Peter, the shadow in black said softly,

“I would like to discuss the terms of our agreement. Our arrangement.” Two heads swiveled his way, and Eddie kept his deep voice level; a bass paver smoothing over the bumps in the road.

“All of us,” Eddie clarified, “a unit.” The glass he’d refilled raised; a goblet of gilded promise.

“To the future.”

“To the future,” the other two chorused as one after a moment, and mirrored his gesture - Peter with sinful delight, and Matthew with thoughtful warmth - no less cunning, but for Eddie, perhaps, just a drop of kindness.

Like wine, like blood, like a covenant of lovers.


	10. A Most Informative Evening...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little after-dinner boning between friends and colleagues.  
> *bonding. Damn autocorrect.

###  After that, things seemed to slow down.

In the days that followed, Eddie reflected on just how - easily things had slipped into place. How smoothly their lives had come together. Earthquake, flood, and fire all receded, pushed on by the winds of change. All elements aligned, and for whatever reason, their universes synced beautifully. As if some unholy hand moved their pieces into place on a board beyond their understanding, they aligned as one - an unbreakable fortress.

It started with the night that followed dinner. They’d made arrangements, written a few things down for contractual obligation, Peter had joked, Matt had laughed - Eddie hadn’t - and they’d determined there were loopholes. Flexibility, Matt remarked, when it came to figuring out where they stood on the grounds of agreed affections, displays therein, and open-ended polyamory. Such things deserved their own discussion, after all - with respect and consideration for partners in all matters.

Peter said that things were different on Spartax, and goodness only knew, Matthew had never wanted to be someone chained down. His loyalty to Eddie was born of love, and Edward  _ knew that,  _ but this - was different. It was something of an envy to him; at first, Eddie realized over the course of the evening. Envy in that Matthew seemed to have finally met a worthy match, a royal man - a man of duty and power and, in his own way, honor. Matt, too, had his honor system - one he built himself, of course - but one that worked for him nonetheless. One that likewise worked for Eddie. As such, they were perfect foils - parallels running through the cosmos. Two lights, one infrared, gradual, with colossal impact - one ultraviolet; shimmering, unpredictably fast, sharp and sudden. Together, they almost outmatched each other for their brilliance, and Eddie - 

Well.

Eddie was left feeling like a shadow.

Not anymore, however. 

Matthew had made it abundantly clear that Eddie was his  _ husband,  _ the one he’d  _ chosen,  _ “just as I choose you; Peter - it is always  _ my choice  _ in what it is I will call you; what it is you mean to me - in my domain, you answer to  _ my  _ rules. My regulations.” Peter had only grinned, rather than offer a verbal response - but he’d acquiesced inevitably. No one could say no to Matthew, at least - not forever. Not even the stubborn and verbose Peter Quill, Emperor of Spartax. 

Eddie had found himself reestablished, his hand held by Matthew as they spoke of what their bond was; Eddie’s unwavering fealty, and his desire to serve. Peter had considered him for a long and quiet moment - in which time Eddie thought he saw, more than anything - his own envy, reflected back toward him. 

Peter had no one back home - from what Eddie had discerned from research, at any rate. A “legendary bachelor”, as it were, with plenty of suitors but no one capable of stopping his hand or staying his course. He was a shooting star untethered by everything, but - something about Terra, about  _ Matthew,  _ had made him look back. And now with Peter’s eyes on him, and Matt’s hand encircling his own, Eddie could see it. That longing for somewhere to call home. 

And that, more than any of the banter or the technicalities and the rehashing of discussions - spoke loudest.

It was when Matt had retreated to his study with the proclamation of “I’ll be back in a little while, darlings - continue getting to know one another” under the guise of writing down said agreements accordingly, leaving Eddie and Peter to the slightly-uncomfortable tension of two men returning to the middle of something they hadn’t even meant to wind up in, that he decided to act on that unspoken  _ something _ . Peter broke the silence first as Eddie made up his mind, however, his raspy voice lighter than air.

“So - should we - I mean, we already had dessert…is there some sort of after-dinner drink prepared; maybe a - nice, hot liqueur beverage..” Peter began to rise and Eddie followed, tugging his suit jacket into place with a polished gesture. One hand swept toward the door and Peter hesitated, looking from the enforcer to his hand, then to the threshold, and back again. He started to move toward the door in a wave of disappointed chemical trails; only to find his hand ensnared, Eddie swinging him back inward, almost a dance again. Bright eyes flickered across the other’s face uncertainly, and Peter cocked his head to one side.

“Edward?” He asked mildly, wiggling his fingers in Eddie’s grasp. “Whatcha doIN--” Pitch lifting in Peter’s voice as he found himself hefted off the ground, the emperor blinked in surprise, breath rushed from his lungs like an unwelcome guest from a party. His back collided - not too hard - with the door, not through it, however. Lashes fluttering, Peter placed a hand on either of Eddie’s shoulders as if to brace himself, unsure of what, precisely, was happening. 

For a long beat, Eddie studied Peter - held a bit higher against the doorframe, nearly toward the far-away ceiling - then lowered him, little by little, till their noses brushed, Peter’s legs parting for knees to knock; jostling, around Eddie’s hips. The ghost of something cunning resurrected itself on the corners of Eddie’s mouth, and, after a moment, he stroked a thumb over Peter’s side, digit rucking up under his shirt. Peter’s haphazard sigh was nothing short of exquisite; a man half-drunk on adrenaline from the suddenness of it all.  _ And well-fed, too,  _ Eddie noted in silent satisfaction as they mingled in the semi-darkness of the foyer.

“Thank you for a most...informative evening, your eminence,” Eddie murmured at long last. Peter, trying to process exactly where this sudden turn of events had taken them, tried to think of something to say. Words eluded him entirely when he caught sight of the smallest of smiles on Eddie’s face - something mischievous. Diabolical. Downright  _ evil  _ in the wrong light, though Peter could only fixate on how full Eddie’s lips were, how good the evening had been - just the right balance of entertainment and indulgence - 

And suddenly those lips were on his, with a curious pressure of a too-long tongue slipping in over the seam of his mouth. Peter opened for Eddie with a ragged gasp, the hands on his shoulders tightening briefly - then loosening, till his arms wove around Eddie’s neck in a ripple of longing, drawing him in. His nose smushed against the side of the enforcer’s face as he dove after desire, sinking against him. Every bone in his body felt weak; reduced to residue. Pure jelly. Jell-O  _ powder,  _ practically, for how unmixed he felt. Unmade. 

Eddie withdrew after a moment, almost completely certain he’d harmed Peter - even when trying not to. Gentleness gave way to confusion as he held onto the emperor a little more tightly, studying the lines of his face and the look of awed disbelief therein. When Peter tried to lower his legs to the floor, they  _ d’ast  _ near gave out from under him - Eddie adjusting his grip to keep him from slipping down into a puddle; slithering to the ground.

“...Oh,” Eddie murmured; realizing. “Oh. You’re…” A fresh smile split his face, ever more sharply. “ _ Adorable. _ ”

“I’m…” Peter tried to shimmy upright to no avail, eyes narrowing. “I’m not  _ adorable. _ ” Eddie pinned him with twin sapphires; glittering jewels seeking pools of green-hazel. The river met the woods and Peter lost himself to the currents as Eddie dipped back in, brushing a featherlight touch to the crest of his mouth. 

“No?” A laugh, hoarse from disuse, escaped Eddie in a flicker of sound before his lips slipped away. Peter chased him briefly, longing in the motion, but instead found the searing heat of affection branded into the length of his neck. His eyes fluttered; rolling back, and his hands scrambled to grip Eddie tighter - legs floundering as if he wanted to do nothing more than to climb him. All airs of grace; pomp, and circumstance fell away to reveal the fidgeting, flighty movements of a man in desperate need of it. All of it - Eddie, and all therein.

Head nudging Eddie’s own, Peter still meekly tried to keep up a protest. “No,” he muttered, nuzzling into the side of his face, “no, I’m - I’m--” Oh. “ _ Oh, _ ” Peter said weakly, sharp teeth just-barely grazing his ear. Effortless, as if he’d practiced countless times [and indeed, with Matthew, however shorter the man, Eddie had], Eddie caught Peter’s next feeble attempt, fishing him off the floor and into his arms. One hand lazily looped Peter’s legs around his waist, and Eddie pressed him into the door proper again, chuckling low. The bass Peter felt in his bones, sending shivering shockwaves to the surface of his skin.

As if he always had, Eddie kissed what parts of Peter's face he could reach, nibbling at his ear, a little while longer. Sweetly, too sweetly, a saccharine sentiment slipped out of Matthew’s own book when he  _ wanted something, _ Eddie murmured, "no, of  _ course  _ not. Big  _ bad  _ Emperor of Spartax... _ Peter _ ..." Eddie smooched his his jaw, " _ Jason _ ..." and then his cheek, " _ Quill _ ." His fingers threaded the rows and rows of cornsilk, drawing Peter’s head up by his hair, pulling his whimpering, reddened features out of his shoulder. Calculating gaze cast itself over his handsome features, and Eddie took a moment to savor his expression. 

“...Signatures and such aside,” Eddie whispered conspiratorially, “I like you so much  _ more  _ than I could’ve ever previously bargained for.” It was over the course of the evening, perhaps longer, Eddie had come to realize, after all, that it wasn’t only jealousy and avarice that drove him back. It was - fear, perhaps, of feeling things for a man so flashy and ridiculous it seemed...impossible, till he stepped back to examine the fact that such things were  _ exactly  _ reasons he’d fallen for Matthew Michael Murdock. Flashy. Ridiculous, yes, but also clever, with good instincts, strength, passion, and power. Not to mention a wicked sense of humor. And a fierce freedom that he controlled with thoughtful measure.

All this at different angles he saw in Peter Quill - though he played it all off in other ways, portrayed himself according to his wishes, and often left one wondering where he was going...he was capable. Crafty. Assured. In his own ways, a golden fox in the henhouse, and Matthew the Bantam rooster coming to contest his invasion. They were equally-matched, though the rooster was more a basilisk and the fox a bit of a puppy-dog. At least, presently. 

Peter, still striving to find something to say, gasped instead - practically mewling, much to his chagrin - as Eddie dove for his lips again. He crashed both into the door and into pleasure, heat in his blood and pressure in his lap, working his hands over the back of dark hair; the pomade finally letting go of enough for him to grab onto properly. Like he  _ wanted. _ From the moment he’d seen him, there’d been something carnal about it; that desire - Matthew had been pure fire, something for Peter to pleasure and unspool around his finger - sometimes that was all it took, he’d found, just a finger and a word.

Eddie - Peter shuddered as the long tongue flicked the back of his mouth, hips jerking slightly in a punctuated reply - Eddie was  _ different,  _ harder -  _ so much harder, _ his mind and voice whined, buried in Eddie’s maw -  _ to break down. _ But here he was, rock giving way to clay that Peter shaped with growing desperation. He hadn’t realized how much he’d...enjoy being manhandled like this. Plucked off the ground with such ease, pushed into a wall. He felt like artwork. He felt like a beloved painting, stroked into being - 

“Ahem.”

Eddie broke off Peter’s mouth and the emperor exhaled, protest in the sound - “ _ whuh” _ \- as Matthew, lingering on the opposite end of the room, sipped his whiskey, one brow cocked and cane twirling in his hand. Unbuttoned shirt open, freckles and coppery hair bared to the air, he looked for all the world a man comfortable in himself and his domain. Eddie slowly began to lower Peter back to the ground, and Matt lifted a couple of fingers in a shrug away from his small, delicate glass.

“By all means. Don’t let me interrupt. I just thought it might be prudent to explore our contract more adequately. Together, as you suggested,” his smirk cocked Eddie’s way, knowingly. “Though I’m sure you can see why he’s so insatiable now. Undeniable, really. I’d say it was in his biology, but I think it’s strictly personal. Albeit he puts out more pheromones than gorillas at the zoo.”

“Hey,” Peter protested faintly. Matt grinned.

“In any case, Peter gets what he wants. And so do I.” Motioning with his head, Matthew beckoned both men to his study, tossing back the rest of his drink before flicking the glass aside, somewhere in the room. It clattered and clinked into oblivion.

“Come along, though not too soon,” he taunted blithely. Peter, hands still on Eddie’s shoulders, tried to steady himself. Deep breaths, cold thoughts. Eddie, however, more controlled as ever, slid an arm around Peter’s waist to support him, pulling him off toward the domain of the Kingpin. An Emperor, a King, and their bodyguard. He’d need a title of some kind better than that, Eddie assumed.

But now it felt as though they had time. Time to go over their words; their choices, more definitively - as Matt tried to keep his voice level, reading through their contract with Eddie between his legs and Peter at his back. A game was made of it, or rather, their games aligned as they all did - Peter trying to get Matthew to lose his train of thought, Eddie trying to get him louder than before. And Matt, of course, relished all of it - a chance to be debauched, to feel it all to his very core. 

The night passed on like molasses chased with spices; stirring into something wickedly divine. They’d wound up entangled together on the clean sheets beneath the masterpiece, finally one bind. In a moment of softness, with Matt unconscious; curled against one side while looking innocent as angels, Peter softly snoring and mumbling opposite, an arm thrown over them both - 

Eddie thought to himself that this sort of thing could work out. They now had guidelines, they knew each other. Intimately. Inside-out, and they could continue on. In a new way. In stride. 

It was only when morning came, and Matt was gone, that Eddie started to have doubts again - 

For he never left so early, nor so quickly, nor without Eddie knowing he had stolen away.

And despite how normal everything else became, leisurely and neatly-metered after that - the realization nagged at Eddie. 

It wouldn’t be for a week or so that the pieces fell into place as to  _ why. _


	11. You Remind Me of Patrick Swayze...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bonding exercise between unlikely, uh. Colleagues.

###  Some mysteries came with their own subset of mysteries.

Matthew informed Peter and Eddie he’d be preoccupied for a few hours every day - reasons undisclosed, which of course drove Eddie up the wall, at least internally. Not knowing Matt’s whereabouts or what he was up to was always like that, though. 

The mere enigmatic implication that he might not be there at the right time or the right place made Eddie tense like nothing else - though of course, token stoicism won out and Matthew was granted the customary kiss to the hand or the cheek [or the lips] when signaled before Eddie left to attend to his affairs.

Or, it would’ve been customary; business as usual, did he not have a shadow trailing him now - a six foot-something shadow with perfect hair and wide, curious eyes. 

“You know,” Peter informed Eddie as he hunched over the desk of the office on the second day, “neither you nor Matthew have shown me around town properly. I’m beginning to think there’s nothing fun to do like they say there is in the movies.” Eddie didn’t bother glancing up or responding - till Peter promptly sat on the papers he’d begun to reach for next. 

“It can’t possibly be this all the time. Matty’s told me you guys get up to mischief. Occasional malarkey. Maybe a  _ pinch _ \- “ Eddie flinched away as Peter’s fingers found his ear, teeth bared in silent warning. Peter fluttered his digits away, eyes wide with innocence. “Of trouble. But hey, maybe I totally misinterpreted that.” Rather than move out of the way when Eddie reached for the stack of sheets beneath him, Peter simply fell to the side with a smooth cascade, hand rising up to catch his head as he now  _ sprawled,  _ fully, a crooked smile on his face. 

Eddie’s fingers recoiled, and, setting his fist on the desk now occupied by the full length of a space king, counted backwards from ten. It’d been a  _ long  _ time since he’d had to do that, but something about Peter’s insistence on pushing the envelope really got Eddie in a way he didn’t expect. Conscious control settled for all of four seconds - before Peter sighed, touching the paperweight of Lady Justice keeping all their current casefiles in place. Tension returned tenfold as Eddie watched Peter; hawklike.

“I just can’t see myself sitting around waiting for something to happen, so -” Eddie made a noise in the back of his throat as Peter tipped the statue off the desk with a feline flick of his wrist. The enforcer lunged forward, and, with a snap of living black Teflon, stole the paperweight back before it could hit the floor. Peter, still poised, dragged his bottom lip beneath his teeth, one brow lifting in amusement as Eddie painstakingly sat back up.

“You let me know when you’re ready to entertain me,” Peter drawled — a sound which morphed swiftly into a squeak as a great oily hand ensnared his shirtfront and hauled him up off the desk. Dark eyes bored into startled hazel as Eddie shifted to the full form of Venom, beastly, gargantuan, and —

“Beautiful,” Peter breathed, eyes fixed on the glossy face of the symbiote currently hauling him off the floor, “striking. That’s what I’m  _ talking  _ about,” laughter bubbled up out of Peter as Venom  _ growled  _ their response, black behemoth heaving — 

Before, grudgingly, Eddie shifted back to human shape, still clutching the Emperor of Spartax for a lingering moment. Peter grinned down at him, secretly once again delighted to be hefted up like he weighed  _ nothing. _ It wasn’t exactly the fun he’d been hoping for, but it was a  _ start _ . 

“What,” Eddie asked, quiet and not entirely personable, “do you want, your eminence?” Peter felt his boots touch the ground as Eddie, despite his irritation, continued to handle him gently. Even now; coarse as his voice was, the touch stayed tender. Fascinated, Peter clasped the wrists of the hands holding him, and Eddie eventually let go. 

“A good time,” Peter decided finally, “perhaps you’ve heard of it.” His smile didn’t waver as Eddie granted him a Look. “Come on. All work and no play makes Eddie a part of the wallpaper.” Eddie’s eyes ticked dryly to the bare, stone walls of the church they occupied that served as office space, then back to Peter, who grimaced; shrugging. “Metaphorically speaking, of course. Come *on,*” he said again, one hand looping its fingers around Eddie’s forearm. Tugging. Incessant. Childlike. Eddie didn’t budge. 

“An hour,” Peter wheedled, “just — one hour, maybe two. Let me see what you enjoy about this city. Please?” It was an odd word to say. A stranger to his mouth; typically — politeness was only crucial during the highest caliber of negotiations. It was that or intimidation, and Peter preferred time whittle his opponents down over time with charm and character rather than fear. He had power — he didn’t  _ need  _ the fear. What he needed was to get out and stretch his legs — and what Eddie needed; Peter figured, was a reminder that there was more to life than the walls that Matt had built. For himself. For both of — and now, all of — them. 

“...one hour,” Eddie obliged, annoyance still making his voice lower and harsher. Peter clasped his hands together, delighted, pausing mid-opening of his mouth as a Eddie raised a finger. “Just the one. We come back when I say we come back. Are we quite clear on that, Emperor Peter?” 

Hazel eyes flickered as tawny lashes fluttered — Peter reaching out to gently lower the hand in his face without letting go. His smile; crooked and mischievous as it remained, didn’t waver — though it took on a slightly sweeter edge. 

“You can call me Peter today, if you want. Just Peter, no...titles or honorifics or anything like that.” Eddie stared up at him, and for a moment, found that the king disappeared. Contrarily, there was just a man — like Matt when he slept, all freckles and softness. Just a man; barely more than a boy, with hair like sunny fields and a face made to keep peace. To look at him was to be soothed in a way someone who crawled out of the abyss didn’t understand. And maybe, Eddie realized, he never would. But he would try. He’d try to understand what it was that continued to be such a pull for him. For Matthew, rather. This was a gravity he could resist. 

“As you wish, your em—.” Eddie caught his tongue between his teeth and sighed, eyes shifting somewhere left of Peter’s shoulder. Peter cupped a hand to his ear with a little squint and waited, face scrunching. 

“...Peter,” Eddie finished finally, the name a deep sigh of consternation. Peter clapped his hands with a grin and motioned with his head, shimmying back a step or two before twirling. 

“Now THAT is the spirit! Let’s take a look around this New York of yours now, huh? No wine and dine, just show me a good time, baby! Let’s go!”

Bombarded by the onslaught of boundless energy, Eddie inhaled, braced himself, and trailed after the most baffling of men. 

New York City greeted them with the usual siege of smells, sounds, and sights. For Matt, most of those were usually so much worse than anything Eddie could hope to imagine — bad enough that the symbiote reacted strangely to high frequency audio output and anything too acidic in the air. Occasional visits to the fruit markets notwithstanding, though, they usually managed to shield him from the overwhelming intake as best they could - muffling when requested via symbiotic tank of soundproof material, for example. When things got to be too much, the submersion helped. Though such things were typically done in the privacy of their own home.

Eddie’s heart sank a little at the realization that he most likely wouldn’t see Matthew till dinner - if then. Chances were, in business of this nature with the Hand, they’d most likely keep him till he ordered them away himself. Always one to push his limits, be it on the sidewalk or whispering in a senator’s ear. 

It was hard to focus on any of that, however, with Peter loping along beside him, craning his neck to look up at the buildings - “don’t do that” - or swiveling on his heel to survey the shops surrounding them. The colorful strip of the street they’d stepped off into was preparing for some kind of celebration. Flags of another nation streamed by overhead, propelled by string, neighbors chattering and laughing in a dozen different languages. Some people sang. Steam rose from carts that popped their lids to offer wares. Children scampered underfoot, chasing one another down the street with buns clasped in their hands. Peter grinned from ear to ear, reveling in all of it.

“See? This is great,” he declared not fifteen minutes into their stroll, one arm slinging around the shoulders of the dark-clad man at his side. “It’s not so different from like, Xandar, or something - albeit way,  _ way  _ more backwater, mind you…” Running a hand through his hair, Peter inhaled slowly. “Can we get some food? Something smells amazing. Plus if I’m not mistaken, you need to eat - feed that thing inside of you, and all that. Not to mention yourself. When was the last time you cooked? Yesterday?” Eddie peered sidelong at Peter, one cobalt eye full of puzzlement. Peter flashed him a knowing look and a littler smile than before. “I pay attention. You may not think so, but I do.”

“...I know,” Eddie remarked slowly, his footsteps following the speed of his words as he began to park them in front of one of the carts of food being offered off the sidewalk, “it’s just…” Matthew knew his ins and outs so well that he hardly needed to express them, but beyond that - even Elsa seemed out-of-touch with her twin. A man in the shadows preferred to be as such - one of them, easily-missed, content with the backdrop and the background. His lips twisted, soft and crooked - not quite a smile, but something equally impressed. Gentler than his previous expressions, certainly, especially where Peter was concerned.

“...You’re right,” he said, finally, and looked away - greeting the man with the cart in Mandarin before ordering for the both of them. Passing Peter a couple of custard buns and a little box of sesame noodles with chopsticks, Eddie shrugged, accepting the same for himself. “It’s just - not often I’m...seen.” The words were awkward. He felt...awkward; strangely. The feeling surfaced and bloomed beneath his fine suit; an algae of discomfort skimming a fine layer of sweat from the warmth of day. Nothing more. Not nerves, certainly. He could maneuver any territory - navigate anything he needed to.

Even the man currently slurping noodles like his life depended on it, dancing off down the street in pursuit of more happiness. 

Keeping up with him after a lengthy pause, Eddie debated what to do. Peter seemed to teem with energy, ample amounts of it, and it was as difficult to direct as the wind itself, caught on sails of some curious ship that swept across the sea of asphalt. His coat flowed behind him as Peter bopped away, and Eddie watched him, thoughtful, something in the gestures; the movements, reminding him of...someone else. Or something he’d seen before, maybe. A long time ago.

Maybe it was just a feeling. 

Maybe it was a memory.

“Don’t - walk so fast while you eat,” Eddie said finally, catching Peter’s arm to get him to pace himself. Noodles slithering up between his lips like the tongue of a lizard, Peter grinned at Eddie - who shook out his handkerchief to swipe the corner of Peter’s mouth, scowling a little. “You have an appearance here now. A reputation. You are also dressed like something out of  _ Star Wars  _ or something, so people will--”

“You know  _ Star Wars _ ?” Peter interrupted; oddly-elated. Eddie’s eyes flashed up from his grin to his eyes, and the emperor faltered. “I - mean…that’s - that doesn’t sound like such a bad thing, honestly. I’ve been known to cause a few... _ Star Wars  _ in my day, if you know what I mean…” Eddie’s eyes narrowed, the handkerchief furling away into nonexistence once again. 

“You’re not originally from up there-” Eddie’s finger jutted upward, and Peter’s eyes instinctively followed - then dropped as the emperor cursed himself internally. “Now are you, Peter?” The comfort in the name wasn’t there yet, but he tried it anyway. Rubbing his neck, Peter cringed a little as if the question pained him, then sashayed a step or two backwards, walking easily enough with his back to the small street; his front to Eddie. Gesticulating - like he was trying to weave his way out of it.  _ It  _ being whatever trouble he thought he might be in, of course. He knew the signs well.

“Well - that’s sort of classified information. You need the highest royal clearance to-” He caught Eddie’s look and swallowed, glancing down. “...Alright, fine - I’m originally from…” Looking around conspiratorially, Peter pressed a digit to his lips, other hand motioning a  _ shush  _ that it didn’t need to - Eddie Brock, as nearly always, was silent as the grave. “Here; Earth, Terra - but not for a long,  _ long  _ time, and if word of that got out…” Peter sighed, shaking his head. “I’d have to commit so many  _ more Star Wars,  _ and I’d really rather not right now. War is a krutacking  _ mess,  _ y’know.  _ Very  _ difficult to maintain from anywhere comfortable.” 

Despite his best efforts, Eddie broke into a smile that Peter hadn’t really seen on him before - and he  _ laughed,  _ too, which d’ast near caused him to trip over his own two feet before he remembered to swing back into line with how Eddie was walking, rather than talk to him whilst walking backwards.

“Why - was it the  _ Star Wars  _ thing that gave it away? I did used to enjoy those films, ‘fore I realized they were totally bogus concepts…”

“No, Peter,” Eddie said, not looking at him - they were headed for a side street of arcades and whimsy, something he thought the emperor might find enjoyable. Getting to know him, however sudden, was a new game. Not unlike the games he’d played with Matthew upon occasion, testing the limits - checking their reflexes, their impulses. This was just a different kind of entertainment, he figured - an engagement of a new means. Peter was less bloody, in a lot of ways - more ethereal, equally lethal, but...different. He’d steal the oxygen from a man’s lungs in a kiss more than run them through with a blade. 

“You remind me of Patrick Swayze, is all,” Eddie murmured - and missed the look of shock and delight on Peter’s face as he opened the door to the retro facility he’d been aiming for. “Come in and make yourself at home. I can have it cleared for your usage for at least--” A sharp inhalation broke the sentence as Peter swooped clumsily in over the threshold and kissed Eddie deeply in the shadows of the awning. His back to the glass door, his lips parting for Peter, the enforcer’s head reeled with the smithereens of broken thoughts. They were merely sooty remnants from a chimney of clambering cinders for how suddenly he  _ burned _ . 

“You’re - this is so sweet, Eddie,” Peter said brightly when he finally remembered to remove himself - and let Eddie  _ breathe. _ “How’d you...well, I guess - it’s you,” Peter grinned, shrugging his shoulders. “This is what you do, huh? You know him - Matty. You know me. You  _ know  _ people. It’s amazing, you’re - I gotta - yeah -” The smarm was gone - evaporated in the wake of an overgrown child being given a new toy - as Peter rushed off to play the games offered. Eddie, standing in the semidarkness, touched his mouth and watched him for a moment - then slipped in to stand beside him, shadow as ever, but present. Listening. 

The talking was nonstop for the forty minutes or so the arcade held Peter’s attention. Nonsensical half-sentences flew through the air as he played game after game, always engaging, asking Eddie for feedback, for opinions, for chatter. Anything. It was like a bottomless bottle had been uncorked; honey-wine flowing in the way Peter’s raspy voice raised spirits in giggles and gasps. He was a surprisingly good sport when bested by computers - “krutacking dirtbag” - for the most part.

The hour passed so fast Eddie found himself wanting...more time, but - there was work to be done. Even now, he could feel it calling to him. Quite literally, his phone had been pinging nonstop for ten minutes, and while he checked it whenever Peter made a play, it wasn’t Matthew. The empty place where he ought to have been continued to remain unoccupied. It did his heart no good whatsoever, to think of him away like that, but - 

“We gotta head back, huh?” Peter’s hand, sweaty from all the consoles he’d been battling, slipped neatly into Eddie’s own. Startled out of his gloomy reverie, Eddie glanced up at Peter and nodded, a marginal indicator. 

“We...most likely should.” Flinching with surprise as Peter kissed the top of his head and squeezed his fingers, Eddie cleared his throat and tugged them back out into the light of day. 

“I had a great time,” Peter informed him warmly, all but leaning into the heft of his body with a boneless sag. Blinking owlishly, Eddie stared sideways at him before bolstering his weightlessness, trying not to laugh. Peter - broke that out of him. The emotions, really. The anger, the amusement. Things he didn’t expect uncoiled and raised their heads; a little nest of snakes inspecting the sudden rays of the sun after hibernation. He wasn’t sure he liked it, still, but - 

He  _ liked  _ Peter. Hell, even...trusted him, despite everything. Trusted his honesty, at least, because he was almost as bad a liar as Matthew. Brutal honesty and fumbling half-truths. What a pair they made. 

And he, who would rather be silent than lie, standing with them. Or - behind them. Perhaps it was still wrong to include himself here, and - 

“Did you?” Peter was asking, breaking into his thoughts once more. Eddie turned his gaze upward and found Peter’s radiant face above, wearing that same, softer smile as it had before. Something inside of him unraveled further. “Have a good time, I mean...Eddie?”

They were just outside the office again, still hand-in-hand -- he’d forgotten to let go. To put up the boundary, to push Peter away. Instead, Eddie simply looked at him,  _ really  _ looked at him, saw beyond the grand garish coat or the sash or any of it - just seeing the man who said he’d come from  _ here,  _ who’d risen up to live and rule among the stars. He had eyeteeth like points of the North Star; a smile anyone might follow anywhere - sharp though it was, it was  _ adoring. _ There was...a wealth of emotion in a smile like that. 

Hungry for it, Eddie slipped upright on his toes in his fine black shoes and kissed the place where Peter’s teeth came together - till they parted with a sigh and let him in.  _ Let the sunshine in. _

After a long moment of silent affirmation, Eddie settled slowly back on the soles of his feet, his eyes riveted to Peter’s face. The walls lowered a little more. Something near-warm as Peter’s own enthusiasm flickered back at him - like a lighthouse on the sea.

“I did,” Eddie replied at long last - and held Peter’s glittery gaze. “And your secrets - you - are safe...with me.” Clearing his throat, Eddie furrowed his brow. “I uh. Hope you know that.”

Opening his mouth to respond, Peter didn’t get a chance - Matthew, infuriated, threw open the office door between them, disheveled, annoyed, and spattered with blood.

“Do I have to wait for you two to finish your dance, or can you get in here and help me? God, it’s like I have to do everything myself.” Frowning at the undoubtedly baffled expressions he was currently getting, Matt motioned with a jerk of his head for both of them to follow him inside.

“Playtime’s over, boys - I need something from both of you.”


	12. you have my permission...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Share and share alike: play hot [symbiote] potato, see what happens.

###  The massacre waiting for them in the office space wasn’t the actual issue that needed dealing with, as it turned out.

Matt had other problems beside the pile of bodies he’d left for a symbiotic roomba to focus on - ones he bitched about, at top volume, pacing in the confines of his office as Eddie shimmied out of his suit jacket to set it aside for the time being - lest he get anything on it in the clean-up process. A process, he realized, he didn’t normally have to worry about performing - but now he had an utterly-fascinated set of eyes on him, Peter hovering by the door with a thumb worried between his teeth, contemplative. 

“...can -” Eddie spoke softly, just to Peter, as Matt continued his rant into the receiver of the phone beyond them both, “can you - look away...please?” Surprised by that, but strangely obedient, Peter glanced over his shoulder, then pointed to himself - before relenting and covering his eyes with a hand, brow furrowing.

The process wasn’t pretty. Eddie didn’t show anyone who’d live to talk about it, typically - if anything, the fact that Matt didn’t see what he did was a relief. He could hear it - the crunch and whine of disintegrating bone and tearing tendons, not to mention the wet bursts and squelches of blood. The faint sound of stickers being peeled - that was always the worst part, so he tried to hustle through the surface. He and Venom made quick work of a few of the bodies, though a hand on a slippery arm stopped him.

“Shift back, leave three. I need to ask Peter something.” At once, he was himself again - the buzzing, disorienting bloodlust already on its way out the door, as Eddie inhaled sharply and tugged his vest into place. If he got too carried away, there were moments wherein he wondered whether or not he could come back from this.

He didn’t dare look at Peter in case the other man hadn’t kept his word - his gaze instead stayed trained on Matt, who paced around the stack of the other three bodies with a look of stormy consternation on his freckly face. A couple fingers snapped impatiently.

“Any updates on that Forge item?” Peter, looking back around from where he’d begun to peer out into the hallway, frowned slightly. 

“Ah - no, Matt, not yet, there’s protocols that need to be f--” 

“Don’t give me that bull,” Matt retorted flatly, “I know you break protocols all the time, darling, I’ve seen it in action.” Huffing, Peter crossed his arms, his slouch that much more pronounced against the doorframe. “I’m just curious - how long does a person need to be dead for the Forge to work?”

“Anywhere, anytime, like I said,” Peter scoffed, shrugging with a couple of fingers. “It doesn’t matter how long they’ve been gone or how they died. It can always piece people back together, but at a--”

“Price, yes, I know, I’m aware,” Matt muttered, one bloody set of fingers sweeping through his hair; pushing it out of the way. For a delirious moment, still siphoning off the endorphins that came from consuming so much at once, Eddie was reminded of the old folklore about Redcaps - and how they’d dip their hats in the blood of the fallen to keep their hats the same color. Matt’s crown of copper positively glowed in the light that came from the stained glass, but - 

“Have a car sent around,” he ordered Eddie sharply. The phone was automatically in his hand, the numbers already dialed. Peter, frown intensifying, stepped into the room, jacket sweeping around his legs. “Tell them to pack a tarp and bring tine. We’ll preserve these. They’re useful fighters, albeit not quite on the level they should be. Perhaps they can be persuaded to train harder in the next life.”

“You can’t be telling me you’re going to just start raising people willy-nilly from the grave,” Peter muttered. Matt blinked, then motioned around them to the stains on the floor that still needed the final level of polish from the symbiote - or at least a steam-cleaning.

“Does this seem willy-nilly to you? These men failed me, but I’m choosing three of six to come back. 50% is far from willy-nilly. I weighed the cost and chose the best of them. Though I suppose Ted could do with an upgrade regardless,” he remarked dryly. Eddie hung up from the call and started to sink back down to finish up the cleaning process - prepared to draw all the blood into himself by means of symbiotic molecular transfer - when Matt caught him by the chin instead, hauling him to his feet.

“Oh, no,” he said quietly, his voice contrite, “no, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I think we’ll have to do that the old-fashioned way after the boys come. There’s something else I need from you.” The thumb under his lip brushed higher, tracing the curve of his mouth. Eddie leaned into the affection; seeking more, and sighed faintly. 

“I need to borrow them, please,” Matt implored sweetly. Eddie’s face flickered, but there was no other hesitation. He straightened upright, hands curling around Matt’s wrists before their fingers found one another, slotting together as if about to play a game - or dance. Peter, on the outskirts, watched in confusion - till he noticed the trickle of black substance flowing up Eddie’s arms, across long scars and pronounced, dark veins. 

“What the absolute flark.”

“Shh,” Matt muttered out of the corner of his mouth. This part was always the most uncomfortable - the feeling, like oil being spilled throughout his body - radiation desperate to ignite that gasoline and burn away all the humanity, the  _ control _ \- hungry for it despite it all, he clung to Eddie. The cold-hot feeling spread, spiderwebbing through him, until at last, all of Venom came to rest in his chest, coiled up contentedly - spreading through his core with an icy, sticky feeling. Matt shuddered, and Eddie, swaying in place, started to drop to take a knee. Dizziness flooded through him, the weakening of limbs caught by Matt’s now much-stronger embrace.

“Thank you, darling,” he crooned, kissing Eddie’s temple. “I won’t be long. You’ll have them back before you know it. But I’ve run into some resistance with an opposing party who disagrees with my plans.”

“ _ I _ am an opposing party who disagrees with your plans,” Peter interjected, motioning to himself impatiently. Matt shot him a look as he set Eddie in a chair beside the desk, and, walking over to his hidden display behind a shelf, reached in to secure the mask. Intimidating in its own right; the glare of the kabuki item met Peter’s gaze as Matt secured it over his head. Little by little, tendrils of shadow followed the gesture; a sinuous kind of samurai armor; though more svelt and very much  _ alive.  _ Venom and the artful depiction of danger melded together into one, monstrous creature - Matt’s voice distorted from under the now-toothier mask to something deeper. More sinister.

**_“You better hope you aren’t.”_ ** Smiling with rows of nasty teeth, Matt lifted a hand to brush Eddie’s cheek in a silent echo of thanks. “Back soon,” he murmured, and Eddie held him to that vow - shivering a little in the wake of loss as the fingers skimmed away; leaving little lines of red on his face.

“Good, you’re finally here,” Matt said in the distance as the drivers and movers arrived. “Take them to the warehouse - you know which one. No, you idiot, the other one…” Peter crouched before Eddie somewhat as he sat on the chair, hazel eyes shifting across the other man’s face. 

“Why did he take Venom, Eddie? Will you be alright?” The amount of concern surprised him, somehow, and Eddie cracked another unexpected grin - Peter had that effect on him, apparently. 

“Needs them to be more intimidating sometimes. When he doesn’t get answers, he just…” Eddie snapped his teeth at the air, close to Peter’s face, and chuckled darkly when the emperor jumped a little in spite of himself. “Goes for the throat.  _ Carpe jugulum. _ ” 

“Gesundheit.”

“No, it’s - it’s Latin--”

“I know, I have a universal translator,” Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It - was a joke - you know what, never mind. What do you need?” Eddie blinked at Peter, hearing Matt’s voice resurface from the hallway outside the office. The smell of blood permeated the air, and without Venom, Eddie found it slightly nauseating. That or the effect of the separation was more severe than usual. 

It  _ had  _ been a while, after all.

“Take the rest of the day off, Edward,” Matt was saying. Eddie blinked, looking up fearfully from Peter’s look of worry to the face he could now see again. Venom had made Matt a little bit more ashen beneath his freckles; darkened his hair a little, perhaps - but he was himself again, the mask tucked under one arm. Element of surprise in play when he went before the Hand, no doubt, with whatever proposal this was - a unit of undead would be useful, undoubtedly. If they were anything like soldiers they’d seen before, then - they’d be difficult to defeat. No heartbeat, no blood to rush through the veins. Quiet as the literal grave.

“Eddie,” Matt said again, more earnestly, “did you hear me? Stop -” Through layers of muffled sound, Matt touched his arm and shoved his hand away from his phone. “The cleaners are already on their way. I’m telling you to leave it alone. Obey me.” Blue eyes sought Matt’s face again, and, as if sensing the question behind them, Matt huffed, his voice lowering. “Please.”

There was something in that word that wasn’t a note Eddie heard often. Not quite begging. More like - a plea. A loving one. His eyes flickered across Matt’s face and, almost indiscernibly, he nodded. The phone winked back out of sight and Matt petted his face. Just a little lingering touch, one of appraisal as much as it was praise.

“Good boy,” Matt told him - and both Eddie and Peter’s heads swiveled after him as he strode away. “Forge information or the item itself, your eminence, please. By end of week, at the very least, if it takes that long to get from Point A to Point B…” Eddie started to get up out of his chair, Peter snagging the crook of his elbow as he did so.

“I’m not an invalid,” Eddie muttered, but Peter held onto him - and, little by little, the enforcer let himself lean into the touch, exhaling low. 

“I know you’re not, but - I’m just gonna make sure you actually do what you’re supposed to do, which is take the day off.” Eddie shot Peter a withering look, one that was met with an even sunnier grin than usual. “Ohoho, that look could boil zargnuts. Listen - you showed me a good time. Let me do the same for you. Not like that, but - I mean, the day is young.” Snickering and clearly amused with himself, Peter took out his communicator, signaling for another vehicle altogether. “Now, c’mon - we’re off to the apartment. You’re gonna...I don’t know, lay in bed and watch bad television. What do you have for entertainment down here? Is  _ I Love Lucy  _ still a thing?”

“I mean, there are reruns,” Eddie said - his voice more gravelly than usual. Peter smiled sidelong at him as he wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, rubbing his bicep.

“That’s what we like to hear.”

The trip to the apartment was uneventful, other than Eddie felt worse by the minute. He chose not to voice it, of course - he would do anything for Matt, including this, time and time again - Matt, who no doubt by now had adorned his mask at the head of the table and become the true Western Sun of the Hand; Holder of Night, or whatever ridiculous titles they had these days. 

But Eddie had seen him use Venom - seen the way the symbiote became a part of the mask, the blade, all bonded to his spirit. The hunger of the katana that cut and sucked the blood out of the living; vampiric, lethal. The way the gruesome mask split into a sharklike grin defiantly bright. How he spoke with a voice like magma shrugging its way out of the Earth; cracking and crackling. The slide of the great tongue across the blood-spattered surface of the mask - of his arms and the blade. All intermingling.

If he wasn’t so weak, presently, Eddie knew he might’ve been turned on at the prospect.

Peter had demanded he change out of his suit - sending it off to be dry-cleaned - before he slipped into bed. Not one to wear anything less than his silks to sleep in, usually, if anything - Eddie shifted uncomfortably in the white t-shirt and the gray sweatpants Peter had drummed up - items of Matt’s used primarily when he was feeling ill, though now, borrowed by Eddie. 

And, strangely enough, Peter didn’t leave him at that point. No - far from, the lanky man sprawled beside him against the pillows, remote in hand, flipping rapid-fire through TV channels and chattering away. “Oh wow, _Beverly Hillbillies?_ That show was _awful._ _Lone Ranger!_ Now that guy was somethin’. Hey, have you ever seen-” and so on.

It was a far cry from quietly laying beside Matt as the other read with one hand and played with Eddie’s hair with the other. Gone were the soft touches, replaced by Peter occasionally knocking against his shoulder. The offhand comment about a text was now overrun by the stream of consciousness filling up the silence, until - 

“Peter,” Eddie said faintly, “what time is it?” Peter frowned, looking around for something digital to inform him of it, then gave up and looked at his communicator.

“Half past four.” Eddie’s heart sank.  _ Back soon  _ had clearly been an overstatement.

The discomfort and disorientation were infuriating. The few times he’d tried to get up, he hadn’t been able to - and the third attempt rendered him jelly-like, plunging headlong to the floor before Peter managed to catch him. It was - humiliating, and he should’ve adapted more quickly than this, but - 

“Does he know?” Peter asked him, on the attempt wherein Eddie wound up in his arms. There was an odd note in his voice - an angry one, maybe. Eddie wasn’t sure. “Does he know what this does to you?” Eddie hesitated, then nodded. “Then why--”

“It’s okay,” Eddie inserted quickly, settling back on the pillows. “I want him to have them. He needs them.”  _ He needs me. _ “He - doesn’t usually keep them this long. I’m sure there’s a good reason,” Eddie murmured. Peter wiggled down to lay on the pillows beside him. Jacket gone, he had less bulk to worry about - and, rolling over, Peter peered at him directly. Hazels met blue where forest met sky.

“...What does it feel like?” Peter asked, knowing the other route was apparently a dead end in conversation. Beyond them,  _ Cheers  _ played, dissonant noise of another era. Eddie watched Peter’s face as he nudged himself closer, lashes fluttering. “To - get it. The symbiote, I mean.”

“Them,” Eddie murmured faintly. “They’re a them. I...it’s different, I suppose. For everyone.”

“How so?” Peter’s inquisitive gaze, his quieter words, were oddly welcome. He’d begun to settle, though God only knew how many hours it had taken for him to get there. Eddie smiled faintly, one hand lifting to tug a wrinkle out of Peter’s crisp shirt sleeve. 

“...they latch onto the first emotion they find in a host, and expand upon it,” Eddie murmured at long last. “For Matthew, it’s - anger, I think. Passion, if nothing else. The symbiote slides into that and makes it...bigger, I suppose. Fills up every cell with that core; that baseline...and then they become what they think the host needs most. Bonding with - weapons, depictions of that emotion, and...they imprint. They want to make sure the host stays...like that. Constant. Solid. Protecting them.” 

“...What was it for you, Eddie?” Peter asked mildly. Eddie blinked; forever thrown off by the way Peter kept asking about... _ him. _ Swallowing a little, he shrugged both brows.

“Uh - I guess...anger, too, but…”  _ No, that wasn’t right.  _ He’d worked hard on his anger and his fear for  _ years,  _ executing control over both. Gone was the angry kid who’d fought his way out of everything. In its place; calm, cool, collected Eddie - to rival even his ice princess sister. Elsa and he had found means to get by, to steady themselves and improve on their baselines, and so - 

When the time came, and he’d gotten his first symbiote - and the second - 

“It was curiosity,” he admitted, embarrassed for a myriad of reasons. Peter blinked roundly at him. “...I - want to know everything. About everyone.” Both as a means of protection and a means of -- understanding, he supposed. He’d always looked at the world differently, after all. That was what made him so - efficient. Resourceful.  _ Useful. _

“...Aw,” Peter said, and Eddie tensed with annoyance. “You’re so sweet, aren’tcha.” Eddie scrunched irritably around a pillow and hugged it close as Peter scooted in nearer, his smile unrivaled in its mischief.

“I am not sweet,” Eddie informed him somberly, “I am...extremely--” This close to Peter, the words seemed to float away as if propelled by the opposite end of a magnet - nothing stuck. “Bitter,” Eddie murmured distantly, heart doing a distracting little flip in his chest. “And - sour. I am a very sour man, so--” Peter kissed him then, and Eddie’s eyes widened before slipping shut. One hand unwound from its tight grip on the pillow to cradle his cheek, and the soft breath that passed between them was - 

“Sweet,” Peter murmured, kissing Eddie’s bottom lip and tracing it with a little dip of his tongue. Mind swimming for a number of circumstances, Eddie swallowed with difficulty. “You seem  _ very  _ sweet to me, Eddie…” Peter kissed the corner of his mouth and Eddie chased him for his lips, catching him in another hungry maneuver - 

Then paused, pulling back with a nervous blink. Peter, eyes at half-mast, smiled crookedly, nose nudging Eddie’s own. 

“You have my permission,” he added, realizing the source of the hesitation - and Eddie dipped back in to kiss him a third time, his fingers curling through the back of Peter’s straw-bright hair.

For a long time, all that existed was the tender coaxing of tongue and the faint nip of a sharp canine - Peter had  _ teeth,  _ and he  _ used them,  _ and if Eddie wasn’t feeling so ill, he might’ve enjoyed it more, but as it stood - he did relish it. The affections were met with generous and boundless curiosity. And enthusiasm.

Finally, they broke apart, and Peter cradled Eddie’s face in his hands, searching his features with unspoken questions of his own. One finger brushed back a couple locks of hair loosed from their fixtures in pomade, and Eddie stole the touch a little, nuzzling under Peter’s palm as if desperate for more.

“...You’re allowed to have needs, you know, Eddie,” Peter said quietly. “You’re allowed to ask for things.”

“That’s what I keep telling him,” a voice said from the door; deeply exasperated. Both men jolted slightly. In the doorway, pristine and crisp in a dark shirt that teemed with life, stood Matt - no mask in sight, most likely stashed at the office, and not a drop of blood on him. “But he doesn’t listen sometimes, I swear - stubborn as they come, my lover…” He trailed off, inhaling sharply.

“...I’m sorry,” Matt said, getting a Look out of both men for his troubles. Peter and Eddie both watched as he sauntered over to the bed to sit on the corner, one hand smoothing over the duvet in the process. “I was - delayed in my return. Business took longer than expected, and if I had known --” He cut himself off, working his jaw. 

“...We’ve missed you,” Matt said after a beat. His hand reached out, black swirling around his fingers. “Both of us, and…” Eddie caught him gently by the elbow, halting the touch. Matt blinked, and, to his surprise, found himself redirected toward Peter. “Edward, what’re you--”

“Let him feel it,” Eddie murmured. Peter swung around to look at Eddie, sitting upright against the headboard [and nearly knocking himself in the head in the process]. “He wants to know.”

“...Eddie--” Peter started to say, and Matt completed the thought for both of them, sharp and concerned:

“Are you  _ sure _ ?” Eddie nodded. The discomfort, bad as it was, he outweighed with the possibility of doing something for - someone he cared for. It was as they both said - he didn’t know how to ask anything for himself, but...that was a work in progress. To be approached another day, he figured. As he’d been saying for the last six or seven years, possibly up to ten, but - still. Gone were his days of selfish climbing and social scrabbling. He refused to go back to that place. Made him feel filthy. Unloved.

This, though…

Matt’s fingers clasped the back of Peter’s neck, and black trailed up and down his spine as the symbiote spilled into his system. Pink lips parted as Peter rocked forward, a soft  _ “oh _ ” of surprise punched out of him as he gripped the bed beneath himself. For a moment, the changes swelled - sharp eyeteeth lengthened further; sharpened more, the copse of teeth around them also turning to canines in their own right. Black veins blossomed with flares of blue-white and purple around them. For a moment, Peter was a nebulous void creature in his own right; a piece of living space, before everything seemed to settle.

He expelled a breath that was almost a laugh, his hands smoothing over the bed - closer to Eddie, to Matt. One hand lifted to cup Matt’s cheek, the other kneading Eddie’s chest - like someone getting used to tangibility all over again. Eddie smiled faintly to himself, then shivered - the coolness of Peter’s fingers a precious gift against fevered skin.

“How does it feel?” He had to ask.  _ Curious. _ Matt’s hand smoothed back his hair, a thoughtful expression on his face as he listened. Peter’s breath, a quick huff of giddiness, quickened. His hand on Eddie’s chest slipped lower, then back up again, as Peter - jelly-like in his own right now - slid down the headboard to sprawl beside Eddie, considering.

“...Sexy,” he decided finally, and Matt snorted in surprise. “I feel... _ sexy,  _ I think.  _ We  _ feel sexy. This is...wild.” More laughter came, and Peter kissed Eddie’s temple, whispering, “thanks for the joy ride, baby.” The symbiote swam out of him in the midst of that little kiss, followed by a soft rake of tongue across the side of Eddie’s face. The return was always a shock to the system, amplified tenfold by the brush of affection. 

“That’s a first,” Eddie murmured - and Matt and Peter, as one, chorused:

“No it isn’t.”

For a moment, it was the most normal thing in the world to burst into soft laughter over that - as strange and bloody as their lives were, they were...lovers who shared things, like any others. Lovers who looked out for one another in their own right. Who; despite the harm they inflicted on the world, to one another, they tried to do otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” Matt whispered again, kissing his cheek, his jaw, and nuzzling into the cooling temperature of his neck, “I won’t be gone so long again if I can help it.”

“We’ve got you,” Peter said lightly, arm behind Eddie’s head as he wrapped around them both. Heat and pleasure came with him, and Eddie, in the midst; trapped between the sky and Hell, felt blissful.

This was a limbo he could live with. The life he’d chosen, given freely.

How much he was willing to give would always remain to be seen - but for now, this was enough.


	13. Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Brendon Urie blaring in the distance]  
> Matt at work. You know how work can be. Exhausting, exasperating, and your colleagues just don't get THE POINT.  
> So if you'll excuse him, he sorely needs to drive. This. Home.

###  Matthew Murdock was a man who always took what he wanted.

It was the way of things. If it was offered, he’d almost always accept [after combing the fine print, of course], if he saw something, he’d reach out and ensnare it, too. Nothing lay outside of his reach, nothing was without measure he could cut. With a blade, with a contract, with his sharp; unyielding wit - it hardly mattered. He was a hunter, and what he chased, he took down without delay. 

Which was why when he sat in the conference room, listening to the restless resting heart-rates of “friends” and “colleagues” [if the Hand could be referred to as such], the idle chatter, the inane decisions going ‘round and ‘round without resolution - Matthew decided he didn’t want it anymore.

He was  _ tired  _ of it. Tired of their scheming, their endless cycles, their inability to act effectively. It gave him a proper headache to have to sit and listen to their squabbling, babbling plans. Convoluted as they were, they all boiled down to one thing - immortality, and how to obtain and contain it. To bottle it. Conduits; confines, blood-concubines all - sacrifices made in the form of men and women and children and God only knew what else. All for the sake of extending their years. 

Were he still worried for his already-immortal soul, Matt might’ve paid closer attention. But if he could give them what they wanted and maintain his control, then - maybe - just maybe - 

Everyone could get what they wanted.

After all, no one would dare try to dissuade a man with the keys to their lives in his hand. 

“We must act before all of our resources are gone,” Gao was murmuring in another’s ear. Mandarin was not unknown to Matthew - nor were his abilities unknown to Gao. She spoke at a volume she knew would reach him clearly, and Matthew could tell from the waft of tea, tobacco smoke, gunpowder, and starched fabrics that she had turned his way ever-so-slightly. Matthew ground his teeth.

In a room full of people who  _ wanted  _ things, he was, for once, just a drop in the ocean.

Matthew didn’t  _ like that. _

“Right,” Matthew said, motioning with both hands. The two men at the doors shut them with a metallic swing that Matt felt in his teeth long after the sound had dissipated. The oval table in front of him fell as silent as it could, too, save for the choir of heartbeats and ghosts of breath still left in other people’s lungs. Gathering there in the overwhelming gutter of scents and flavors, Matthew felt himself twist with displeasure - someone’d had too much garlic in their humus at lunch, another still had blood on their shoes -  _ careless _ \- there were fresh-cut greens mixed with the paint still on Gao’s hands, and - 

“Right,” Matthew said again, centering himself with a narrowing of eyes and tilt of his head.  _ Filter.  _ He’d be out in the “fresh” air of his city again soon enough, running high and fast enough to leave as much of this behind as possible. And his darling Edward would meet him wherever he wound up, and God, he was  _ wound up,  _ in need of an escape.

Fuck, he was  _ so tired  _ of this.

“So our stock is up, our supplies are down, and  _ someone  _ thought it’d be funny to let  _ Rhino  _ trample Midtown.” A sound occurred somewhere toward the doors, and Matt straightened up from where he’d stooped over the table  _ immediately;  _ his head ticked toward the culprit in warning. “Oh, so you  _ do  _ think this is funny, Cornelius.” The snickering stopped at once, and Matthew continued.

“We’ve been looking into alternatives to the Substance - oh, stop flinching - for over a year now and have come up marginally empty. I’ve found a solution I think might solve the majority of our problems, so--”

“You’re finally giving up the symbiote research?” Matthew paused, the insurmountable irritation of being interrupted - dangerously,  _ lethally  _ interrupted - prickling up and down his back with a vengeance. Upper lip curling, the Kingpin turned from where he’d begun to pace to face the table of figures once again. No better than impatient children - children he wanted nothing to do with anymore; not this babysitting. Not this herding of cats and powerful people intermingling with selfishness and  _ fuck,  _ he hated himself for being there.

That was the crux of it, really. The reason his face creased with disdain and his hand loosened his tie ever-so-slightly. It was the bestial, base instinct to run off and lick his wounds, to  _ sulk,  _ to settle down and curl into a ball for a while until the pain ceased. But that was a coward’s way. The katana in his lap that final decisive day -  _ a coward’s way _ . Stick would’ve agreed with him there. It was going to nothing, or it was ruling Hell.

Better burning in a crown than being shackled to fear forever.

So he convinced himself.

_ Are you going to wield what hurts you? Or are you just going to sit there and let it be your demise? Get up, Matty. _

_ Get to work. _

“Not - giving up.” Matthew forced a smile, sharp and merciless, to come to the surface again as he sidled through the room, striding behind each high-backed chair. A few men had begun to sweat with unease, though people such as Madame Gao and Cindy -  _ God, how he’d missed her perfume  _ \- were unbothered. This was par for the course, as far as they were concerned, seeing Matthew meander like an unhurried, well-fed predator throughout the shadowy confines of their space. He ran a hand absently over the smooth wall when he reached it - then turned, sauntering back around the other side.

“Not giving up,” he echoed, more firmly than before. “The symbiotes are extremely difficult to obtain in terms of material; expensive in their construction, and not everyone will be a genetic match to an appropriate degree. We’ve determined there still needs to be some refinement in terms of their usefulness, and, as such, we need to proceed with caution. Unless you want to risk exploding from the inside out; melting, dissolving...that sort of thing.”

“And yet your husband manages just fine. Not once, but  _ twice, _ ” Gao said quietly. Matthew, perfectly aligned behind her chair, stopped mid-step and turned, listening more intently. “In fact,” Gao said softly, “perhaps he is the key to all of this, and you are simply...blinded by your affection for him.”

“Hardly because of him,” Matt snapped in her ear, teeth a menacing sneer he knew would gut anyone who looked his way. Gao closed her eyes - he could feel the lines of her face shift - and Matthew withdrew, one hand rising to rub his eyes under his glasses. The faint scarring at either corner was coarser than ever against his fingers. Were he more susceptible to hospital treatments, he might’ve considered cosmetic surgery - but he had Venom if he truly wanted the scars gone. No - they served as a reminder.

To him and to his enemies. And the perfect mask when need be; a reminder that underneath the fine [allegedly garish] suits, the cologne cut with roses set afire, and the smirk - 

He was  _ still  _ just a  _ little old blind man. _ Stick had taught him more than once to lean into that when he needed to. He hadn’t often since acquiring his throne, but if need be, he had that. If nothing else, Matthew always had his darkness. The dark radiation rippling across the room; filling in the blanks, the dark silence of his luxurious nights where almost  _ nothing  _ happened - and Venom-Eddie. Darkest of all, his own sensory-deprivation tank that cooked for him and carried him when he was too tired to stand. On his own, or any of it. 

His mouth twitched; fury reignited at the insinuations that followed.

“We simply worry your attention has strayed,” Cornelius was saying across the table. “Between Mr. Brock and the symbiote; now your new consort from the stars--”

“Consort?” Matthew cut in, quick as a knife. Cornelius swallowed, then laughed.

“Oh - come now, please, Matthew, tell it like it is. One of your  _ consorts _ , not a  _ business  _ associate, a  _ conquest  _ \- under your thumb, we all know just how--" 

The blood dropped before the penny did, the speaker [a man of no real significance and easily-replaced in Matt's book] raising his hands warily, the katana's lethal edge mere inches from his throat. Kneeling on the table, having moved quickly between the towering chairs, bare feet pressed against polished hardwood. His suit jacket and shoes were abandoned behind him; the devilish man with his fiery hair practically raptured in how fast he’d launched himself at his dissenter. 

But there would be  _ order  _ in his courtroom.

"Insatiable," Matt responded coolly. "I'm  _ insatiable _ , is that it, Cornelius, and do you know  _ why _ ?" The man shook his head. Carefully. "Because if you settle, you'll regret it forever. At least I know I might," Matthew muttered. The blade pirouetted away, sheathed out of sight again in its cane.

Standing upright in the center of the table, Matt swiveled for surround-sound reports of how that’d been received. The cortisol had spiked in the air, and several pulses were racing. Were he in a more brutal mood, he might’ve killed Cornelius to satisfy that  _ insatiable  _ bloodlust he had - like those old commercials,  _ once you pop... _ grinding his teeth a little, Matthew began to walk, cane strewn over his shoulders; arms draped over it. A living scarecrow. A martyr in malice.

“Dr. Cornelius, we don’t necessarily  _ need  _ you alive to explore the mutations therein discovered within the symbiotic genetics alongside Dr. Brock,” Matthew said calmly, face scrunching in thought. “So I would exude a little bit more caution in speaking to me. Elsa could handle such things on her own. And it sounds like  _ your  _ focus has been  _ elsewhere,  _ or did you think I’d misinterpret your actions regarding mutant public records?” Silence; ringing with gavel-like decisiveness. 

“Thought as much,” Matt pressed on, half-smiling. “We have enough for five more uses, per my calculations, regarding the Substance. Try not to die in the meantime would be my suggestion,” he chuckled, swinging to-and-fro in place, all but dancing on the sway of his own feet. “Keep pushing forward with symbiotic research, though - just know, we’re a good three years or so away from full development, by my estimation.”

“It would be helpful,” a different voice murmured, “sir, if - Mr. Brock could perhaps find a means of replication--” The voice stammered off into silence as Matthew dropped to a crouch; gargoyle-like, before the new speaker. 

“Hernan, was it?” A nod. “Hernan, do me a favor. I know you’re new here, but--” The sharp sting of the back of his hand connecting with the other man’s face was nothing compared to the barked orders: “ _ shut the fuck up about things you don’t understand. _ ” The undercurrent of that was  _ and my husband,  _ though Matthew knew he didn’t have to voice that plainly for it to be understood. Like a telepathic tether, the noose of that notion slipped warningly around the neck of the room. He wouldn’t hesitate to call them all down to the gallows by his own hand if he had to.

_ Ha.  _ Humorless smile on his face, Matthew shot back upright.  _ By my own Hand. Now that’s funny. I’m hilarious. _

_ And you’re slipping, _ a silent nudge came from beyond the dark. The memory of that - of Stick - rooted him in place, and, drawing in a breath, Matthew nodded to himself.

“But I can see your concerns. Well. Metaphorically speaking.” He jostled his glasses playfully up-and-down, brows waggling. Nobody laughed, which was a shame and a sin, but he completely understood why. He hadn’t exactly cultivated a comedic environment for the past thirty-six minutes. And counting. 

Deeply sighing, the Kingpin pinched the bridge of his nose and said; carefully: “I am aware of our enemies closing in among us. And I do mean among. There’s reasons shipments go missing, cash isn’t counted right, and arms are being deemed ‘faulty’ but not returned to inventory. I am aware of  _ all  _ your dealings - just as I am aware that outside forces seek to destroy us.” 

Like Karen Page; the Punisher, with her own vendetta against the Hand’s movements in town - who had, supposedly,  _ allegedly  _ [it would never hold up in court] been responsible for her brother’s death. Her father’s. He shouldn’t have had such a connection to the mobs in the area, but - then again, a gang doctor seldom got any recognition beyond a gun in the face and a threat in his ear. Live or let die. But Karen wouldn’t stop till every potential reason for her family’s murder was in the ground with them.

Admirable, were it not also so  _ fucking annoying  _ for his business. 

“My  _ business associate, _ ” Matthew went on, purposefully adding emphasis to the words, “on the other hand, has an item in his inventory that might prove to be exactly what we need for short-term till the symbiotic research is perfected and cleared for full audience participation. Known as the Eternity Forge…” Matthew turned on the table, pacing back the other way, “it can bring anyone back from the dead. From any time. Anyone,” he reiterated. Hushed murmurs stole through the space, and Matthew preened internally.

“What’s the catch?” Ay, there’s the rub. Matthew’s smile didn’t waver, however - years of practice, years of sinning, had saved him for this moment. He shrugged, leaving it at that for a moment, then uttered a soft laugh.

“Remains to be seen,” he said - both a pun only he could enjoy and an omission of truth without being so. He would’ve patted himself on the back, were he not currently busy twirling his cane. 

“He leaves to retrieve it tomorrow. Within the month, I expect it to be in _ our  _ inventory as well, should negotiations…” Fucking Peter against the wall until he surrendered, for example, “go according to plan.” Matthew ran his tongue over his bottom lip and sat abruptly in the center of the table, cross-legged. The room went perfectly still; holding collective breath.

“Now, then,” he motioned with a hand, “Reed, I think you had something for us on - what was it? - interdimensional interception?” 

“Oh - right, yes - “ the click and hiss of a presentation starting, Matthew waited for the narration to begin. Reed was in excellent voice, and he had no doubt the research he’d gathered would be useful by other means. Another world might exist out there; with more resources. Perhaps it had Substance, perhaps otherwise - but it was nigh-unexplored territory, and Matthew relished the possibility of extending their reach. No - 

_ His  _ reach.

He still wanted nothing more to do with any of this. Up on the top; up on the table, Matthew knew he’d begin working his way out the moment he had the Forge in hand. The key to life and death, once the Substance finally ran out. The symbiotes were his. The Forge would be his. Another  _ world  _ could be his - 

And he’d take it. He’d take it all, because no, he didn’t settle, and he took what he needed, what he wanted, what he  _ craved,  _ because life was nothing but suffering otherwise. 

As if on-cue, Gao leaned forward just enough to whisper only to him - the ghostly words mere thoughts made air; brushing against his ear:

“ _ Your death could come at any time, _ ” she sighed. It hit like a banshee’s wail. “ _ Have a care, Matthew. _ ”

Unmoving for a moment, Matthew finally turned a little in place - and cracked one of his more gruesome smiles, all flashy teeth and charm.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”


	14. No More Fucking Around...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a series of unfortunate events, but at least they're horny ones?

###  “ _Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you_...” 

Peter was crooning sweetly, playing with Eddie’s hands; beaming in a benign fashion down at him. Beyond them both, the great ship loomed, lights and engines off, the warm air of fading August soft against their skin.”Tomorrow, I’ll miss you…” Laughter bubbled up between lyrics as Peter swung them around in a half-waltz, Eddie reluctantly turning to follow suit. 

“Remember, I’ll…?” Peter leaned in with a cunning grin, brows waggling. Eddie inhaled slowly, head ducking, and monotoned, 

“ _ Always...be true _ …” 

“See? Now you’re getting it,” Peter crowed, sashaying his shoulders back and forth. “ _ And then while I’m away _ …” Their noses brushed and Eddie watched the light catch in olive on gold and bronze. 

“ _ I’ll write home every day _ …” Eddie murmured, kissing the back of Peter’s hand. The emperor brightened, and, with a surge of royal purple, gold, red, and cobalt, swiveled them in place grandly, spinning like tops till he was able to dip Eddie backwards, grinning from ear to ear. 

“ _ And I’ll send all my lovin’ to you _ !” 

Straightening upright, Peter kissed Eddie promptly; square on the mouth, and hummed a contented note as the other man yielded, clinging a little to Peter for support. Inhaling as he withdrew, tonguing the scar on his lip, Peter cast a cursory glance around, a frown falling across his shining features. 

“...Matt isn’t coming? Really?” Eddie shook his head. “The nerve. And to think he might never see me again. I’m kidding,” he said swiftly, patting Eddie’s arm at the nervous flash in his dark eyes. “I’m  _ kidding, _ baby. I just worry his work’s consuming him. You know?” 

After a beat, Eddie nodded.  _ Consume. _ And Matt was  _ always _ hungry — an Oroborous, devouring himself. Who were any of them without their work, really? 

Peter, he supposed - dutiful, but also wild and free in his own right. Even now, he restlessly tugged on Eddie’s hands, swaggering a step or two closer to his ship; shimmying backwards. 

“You sure I can’t convince you to come along with? I could use the extra muscle. The  _ intimidation, _ ” Peter insisted, scrunching his face for emphasis. Against his will, Eddie’s eyes crinkled a little with a smile - and Peter, more observant than most paid attention to, caught on with a grin, waggling a finger. “Ah, see? You want to. I know it. I can  _ feel  _ it - but. Maybe when we’re all together again, we can tag-team and convince his Kingpinliness to oblige us.” 

“Do  _ not  _ call him that,” Eddie groaned, the rigidity of his demeanor slipping into a breathy laugh. Peter, seeming to relish that, clasped Eddie’s face in either hand and kissed his forehead, hazel eyes dancing.

“It’ll be our secret then.” Peter righted himself from where he’d stooped in, and, dancing away backwards, fired off a round of finger-guns in Eddie’s general direction, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m off, though - I’ll be back before you know it with treasure in-tow. And Eddie -” Peter, like some corsair of old, leant out of the side of his fine ship to look the enforcer over one last time. Eddie, eyes only for the space-man with the [alleged] plan, raised his brows. 

“...Try to stay out of trouble. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. What do people normally say for stuff like this? Ah, well,” Peter made a face, blew one last kiss Eddie’s way, and disappeared into the confines of his ship. 

Matthew had made his Irish goodbye the night before - disappearing back off into his work after making it apparent he was not to be disturbed. Reed’s interdimensional input in terms of travel, coupled with what Peter could spare of advanced space tech [“stuff doesn’t grow on trees, you know - well, actually, that wire did, but it was a very rare tree”] made for a new endeavor - one to occupy his time until Peter’s return.

And so - Eddie was alone, worrying about one man off in space and one across dimensions. He hadn’t been able to follow him, either - “too dangerous for you and your other, my love” - Venom, it was hedged, would not survive. And, by proxy, neither would be - something about a “complete dissolution of stabilizing features in symbiotic genetic particles as disrupted by the time-space continuum” but...he tried not to think about that.

He instead focused on the cooking of meals; the running of business, the reading of books, and the listening to records. Peter had dumped a myriad of options for music onto him and Matt, and for once, he’d swapped out the vinyls of Chopin and Vivaldi for something a little less refined. It was an odd experience, dressed to his usual 9’s, sitting in the center of the living room while the Beatles blared around him - but he found he didn’t hate it, necessarily. His father had never been fond of the Beatles and, as such, a lot of the music was new to him. Fresh.

But Eddie found he much-preferred Peter’s particular renditions of the sounds.

No sound could be sweeter, however, than the faintly fizzling- _ pop _ of Matthew’s return - the noise he’d been trained for, more or less, following the lengthy discussion they’d had about Matt pursuing these interdimensional endeavors. He’d been in the middle of cooking - sleeves rolled up, jacket off, vest on beneath his apron - but paused to catch Matt as he quite literally stumbled in, disheveled and grinning maniacally from ear to ear. The stench that came with him - sweat; sex, alcohol, and cinnamon - hit Eddie in waves as mad, pale fingers crawled across his forearms, scrabbling for purchase.

Hauling him upright, Eddie barely got out a confused, “you smell good” before Matt was on him, hands in his hair, lips on his lips, tongue in his mouth. He tasted like an explosion of spices and desire, and Eddie fell open for him with a longing sigh. It’d only been a day - just a day of absence, him across the dimensions, in his fine Tom Ford suit, but - 

Even that day was too long, Eddie realized, reaching down to pick Matt up - as he already left the floor, sailing up into Eddie’s embrace, legs wound around his waist and heated lap against his stomach. Sharp teeth caught on a soft cherry lip, and Eddie withdrew reluctantly; just enough to speak.

“Welcome home. I’m - trying to finish dinner, my love--”

“Screw dinner,” Matt burst out, laughing, “and for God’s sake, Eddie,  _ darling,  _ screw me, I’m absolutely - out of my mind with need at the moment...” Eddie’s brows shot skyward but he didn’t have a moment to get a word in edgewise - instead, Matt was licking back into his mouth and the peppery feeling of nerves igniting was all he could think about, suddenly. His back hit the counter as he held Matt closer, close as he could, only surfacing to eke out more words.

“Shouldn’t you - eat? Hydrate? Rest?” Matt chuckled darkly at that, nipping the underside of Eddie’s jaw, along his neck, muttering as he traveled the length of flesh that smelled of sweat-lemon-tea-coffee-paper- _ home. _

“I had such a  _ wild _ time...something in the air over there…” his teeth snatched Eddie’s ear and the other man grimaced, though not without desire. “One of them - was  _ you,  _ Edward,  _ darling… _ ” His body locked up at that, however, and Eddie’s gaze shifted sharply toward Matt, hands smoothing over the strong thighs currently wound around them. The desire to get them to shake, to get Matt to tremble apart, was mounting. He wanted nothing more than to mount him in kind, to reclaim what was his - something predatory; angry, even. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it stank of desirous debauchery and danger. He couldn’t get his teeth to sheathe; sharp fangs bared in a creasing snarl.

“So don’t think you were ever far from my mind,” Matt purred, fingers coyly curling around Eddie’s chin as he drew himself upright again. Eddie’s blue gaze  _ burned,  _ and Matt felt the heat of his breath against his cheek - almost a caress to him as it stood, a gentle sweep of passion. He wanted nothing more than for the table to be swept clear of everything and to be rawed against it, hungrier for that than even the scent of the chicken roasting in the oven.

“Was he…” Eddie parted his lips to wetly grip Matt’s throat between his teeth, gnawing slow - working him over with a hand between his legs, enjoying every little sound the other man made. As if hearing it again for the first time -  _ sweet music.  _ “Better or worse than me? Anything I should change?”

“He stuttered a lot when he spoke.... It was kind of charming, really,” Matt laughed - then gasped, head lolling back when Eddie began undoing his trousers, hand dipping through fabric to reach him more directly. “But no, my love, you are much--” Matt’s breath hitched and his hips followed, pushing his urgent need against Eddie’s hand; the cold wedding band against his feverish skin so icy it positively branded him.”M-more experienced,  _ fuck _ .”

“I missed you,” Eddie said; quiet and calm - much calmer than he felt, as thoughts of food fell further and further to the wayside. 

“I missed you too,” Matthew said sweetly with another kiss, before: “Now will you  _ please  _ fuck me, I’ve  _ literally _ never been more horny in my life.” 

They’d determined in the hours - days - that followed that, unrelated to Matthew’s interdimensional jumping, there’d been some sort of biochemical incident that transpired that “negatively” affected him. He’d always been a little on the...physical side of things, but - it was good, in a way, to have a couple days of decompression [more or less] together. Eddie relished the fact that he couldn’t even leave the bed without Matt whining for his return.

“And where’s our godforsaken third?” he’d groused at one point, hands buried in Eddie’s hair with the man tucked away between his legs. “Peter shouldn’t be missing this -  _ fuck _ , your mouth…” Noisier than ever, and twice as communicative - Eddie could get used to this, he thought. Tending to base need, to everything. It felt like his Matt had well and truly come home.

Another week went by, and Matt was determined to make another jump across dimensional lines. “My double is on the other side,” he whispered conspiratorially one evening to Eddie, once the feverish effects had left and he was more himself again. “Wouldn’t it be funny to go see if I can’t get to know him a little better? Maybe trick his friends again.”

“To what business purpose?” Matt scoffed, nudging Eddie with his head as he snuggled closer to him, wheedling.

“Collection of biomaterials in the possibilities of cloning. Also, you  _ know  _ I mix business with pleasure anyway,” Matt murmured, half-smiling. “But, should things go south - for example,  _ Spider-Woman  _ decides my presence is unwelcome in her new home - rude, honestly - there’s now an emergency ‘hatch’ so to speak - you can pull it open. And I’ll be right there, and you can grab me. Sound okay?” Eddie didn’t answer, but Matt kissed his face with a happy sigh. “Of course it does, my stoic beauty. Now get some shut-eye. You might need to rescue me in the morning.”

“...no pressure,” Eddie muttered, and turned after a moment to put out the light.

It was another two days of silence and uneasiness without Matt again after that - he’d cut a fine figure, sauntering off into the ether with his cane twirling and his smile smugly in-place. Confident in his collection of data, perhaps arrogant in his execution. Long ago, Matthew Michael Murdock had decided to stop answering God - since God never answered him. As such, he walked with the nihilistic gait of an agnostic with nothing to lose - no fear, no rage. Just the belief in himself that surpassed anything else.

It made Eddie [and others] believe in him, too.

And it was belief that assuaged Eddie’s fears, rationalized within, until the signal came to him that was a single note.  _ Distress. _

And then it was off to the study at warp speed, his feet hardly touching the floor. It was a smashed glass he’d pay for later in more ways than one, but it hardly mattered. The red button, positively nuclear, pressed beneath his fingers, and the split in the universe came yawning open, time and space rippling free. Just a window to reach through, not step through. In one half, the office - in the other - 

Matthew;  _ his  _ Matthew, knelt in the street, sword in hand, suit jacket gone, bloodied and furious - above him, in a red suit that looked like something out of a Del Toro nightmare stood the opposition - though with the removal of his helmet, the shock from the interception of universes, no doubt - 

It was Matthew, too, who faced himself. Matthew, but not his. Eddie stared for a long moment into a freckly face; darker-haired, more ashen. This was not a man who basked in the sun, nor took care of himself the same ways his Matthew did - or allowed Eddie to do so - 

Similar to the way Eddie slowly leaned in to pick his man up, gathering him into his arms, Venom already encircling him with a comforting squeeze, black waves upon black waves crashing over injuries. White headlight eyes glared down the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen.

“Wh--who are you?” The voice; so close to his Matthew’s. But angrier - more unsettled, hoarse. Eddie snapped sharp teeth and turned away, holding his Kingpin close to his heart. This had been a mistake. Clearly; things had gotten out of hand, and if he or even Peter had been there, then maybe - 

**_“No one you should hope to see again,”_ ** man and symbiote told the other directly - and behind them in the office, the gateway to the other-Earth closed beyond. 

For a long while, Matthew didn’t let go of his savior.

Eventually, however, Eddie had managed to dislodge him and put him to bed after cleaning him up, injuries and all, until he was whole again. But the surface is something different than the porous insides - something much less obvious in agony had transpired. A hollow in Matthew he’d ignored for so long, devoid of faith or anything similar - grew deeper and broader and blacker still. As if rotting him from the inside out, and, oh, how rotten he felt, now, when everything was said and done…

And it wasn’t until the following night, after going through the motions, that Eddie found Matthew kneeling quietly in the center of the office floor, dressed in white, barefoot and quiet. On his lap, the great fang of his blade; poised to strike as a serpent might. Matthew was so awfully still; all but a ghost already. The cold in the room had nothing to do with the moonlight spilling in, nor the soft sweep of shadows spilling deeper into the darkest spaces.

“...Matthew my love,” Eddie asked him hesitantly, “what are you...doing?”

“...I’ve seen it, Eddie,” Matt said quietly, not picking his head up from where it hung, heavy, pointed toward his sword. “What - what it’s like for him. For  _ me,  _ over there - his choices,  _ my choices,  _ what it could’ve...what  _ I... _ could’ve…” His throat clicked; bobbing, too thick and anxious to swallow. Eddie, terrified in the doorway, suddenly felt all the realizations strike him at once.

Gone was calm, cool and collected. In its place, quiet panic and tenderness as he knelt in front of Matthew and reached for him - for once without asking. He just laid a hand gingerly on his arm and spoke to him in gentleness - and love. Love deeper than any pit, or...so he hoped.

“No matter what or who you choose to be, I’ve seen your heart and soul. I love  _ every  _ part of them. I will love them forever. Don’t…” the weight of it was a pendulum that, once it swung, would shatter everything, so Eddie softened his words to soften the blow: “don’t...take them from me yet. Let’s talk about this. The dark. The light. Anything. Everything. Just...talk to me, Matthew Michael.” A silence, then: “ _ Please _ .” 

For the first time, Matt’s hands shook, unable to make a decision - until his blade dropped from his hands, rolling off his lap to the floor and he simply...crumbled. Matthew Murdock; the Kingpin, broke down in tears, something Eddie had never seen. The faintest and most ragged question followed: “...who  _ am  _ I, Eddie...?” 

Eddie hesitated not even for a  _ second  _ as he wrapped his arms around Matt to pull him close, tucking the love of his life once more against the heart that beat in part only for him, and with everything he had, the enforcer whispered back, “ _ Matthew Michael Murdock _ . That’s _ all _ you have to be. That’s your  _ name _ . That’s your  _ identity _ . What that means is yours to make of it. I  **_love_ ** you. You’re —  _ sharp  _ and temperamental and  _ crafty _ ; clever, brilliant beyond measure, passionate,  _ loving _ …”

Eddie’s hand swept over the back of Matt’s head, lips pressed to his crown. “I’ve felt the best of you and I’ve seen the worst. And  _ every  _ part of you I care for in this world and whatever comes after. And if after never comes...you’re enough forever. As you are. I’ll take you. And I’ll go with you. Matthew my  _ love _ .” His voice fractured; fried - but tried and true. Emphasis in lieu of prayer or hymn; but as holy to Eddie as anything else - love...made a man whole. Made it wholly theirs. “Matthew Michael Murdock.” 

A small question rose out of the dark, a flower seeking light it couldn’t see nor find. Nor feel. Everything was cold. Quiet. Wary. “You’ll love me.... no matter what I am? A monster?” 

"I already do,” Eddie murmured swiftly. Fiercely. “I  _ always  _ **_will_ ** . I loved you since day one and I'll love you till time means  _ nothing _ . Because you mean  **_everything_ ** to me..." His hands dipped down to cradle Matt's face as Eddie gazed at him, desperately earnest. More emotive than...he’d likely ever been. There were no reservations now. No need for pretense or control when everything felt so very frenzied. Even in its unmoved state. The two of them, a tableaux of adoration, a pieta in the office. Eddie’s voice breaking and his face damp with tears. Matthew had followed suit, or led the charge - whatever the case, he, too, was weeping.

Eventually, Matt just wrapped his arms around Eddie and collapsed into him, unable to do anything but cry outright - until he just barely got out a weak, “ _ I love you _ .” It, too, was broken and strangled, but it was there. Raw, and honest. 

The Kingpin felt broken. But not beaten. Not while he still had this. Not while he still had...something to hold onto. A purpose which burned like the saltwater washing away his pain. Like the brine of Eddie’s great abyssal sea, Venom kissing his wounds and worries away. Not while he had Peter and his smarmy smile and starry delights. Not while he had his empire and - 

He’d just lean into it. As he had when this all began. No more woes, no more concerns. Let his other self do as he saw fit, living miserably and wearing - what,  _ spandex? _ \- out in the streets of a city that  _ hated him. _

He; Matthew Michael Murdock, Kingpin, had  _ love.  _ He had  _ meaning. _ And he would hold fast to both and wield them as the weapons they ought to be.

Eddie, in turn, held fast to him - love of his life, light of his world, heart hammering, and, with one hand, nudged the katana further away on the floor. Winding around Matt completely, kissing the top of his head, Eddie muttered, "I love you too, I’ve got you. I've  _ got  _ you...Matthew..." his voice hitched, and he fell silent...but he stayed there. For as long as Matt needed him to be, as always - Eddie was present.

“Carry me to bed,” Matt said after a good while. “Tomorrow...is a new day.” The relief Eddie felt in that instant was nothing short of miraculous - and no more words need be said. A new day they’d face together, in their own world, in their own time, as themselves. That was all they could do. All they could be. So much more than anything else; anywhere else.

Clutching Matt close, Eddie did as he was told. And Matthew, resigned, began to think on ways to double down on what he had. Invest and cash out as-needed. His plans were already in motion. And tomorrow - 

Tomorrow, perhaps Peter would return with the Forge, and like he did whenever things got hard to reconcile - 

Matt would get to  _ work. _

No more fucking around.


	15. I've never needed you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [mmmmm whatcha sayyyyyy  
> that you only meant wellll]

###  Crime had always been an issue in the city, but never so much an issue as Matthew Murdock made it. 

Everyone he’d allowed lackadaisical leniency before suddenly found that privilege snatched away by an iron fist. The one he hired; in fact, from time to time to act as an emissary beyond him. An extension of his own arm, a slap sent straight from the Hand itself. And when that wasn’t enough, Matt woke the Black Sky to carry out the reestablishment of orders, brutal and bleak. 

Marc Spector’s name was well-chosen, for he was a ghost who came and went at the whims of the Kingpin, and he haunted the wicked and unwilling with equal tenacity. Wraithlike, he manifested, bludgeoned, and beat until all was red pulp and powerless acceptance in the name of his lord. Matthew, the royal in question, performed some beheadings himself — a guillotine mercy reserved only for the most disloyal. 

And it began immediately following his near-collapse. 

The Hand tried to restrain him - to rein him in; their blessed and beloved Western Sun, but he spiraled neatly out of their reach and onward, buoyed by his own endless ambitions, ravenous for the crackdowns and the chaos he intended to inflict upon those he couldn’t yet bring to fully heel beneath him. 

And still to the public, he maintained his saintly attitude - soup kitchens opened. Hands were shaken. Babies kissed. Law was enacted as he saw fit, and the chief of police received financing for a whole new set of vehicles to pursue criminals with. The highest tech available. 

In the shadows was where the monster did most of his work, but in the light - the light painted every monster more beautifully. He was a man who loved his city, a man who’d do  _ anything  _ for his city - the town he cradled close to his heart by night, scheming and dreaming up ways to truly make it shine.

For those who could take in such things, of course.

And behind closed doors, he was at his worst - talking back to anyone and everyone, arguing case after case until he won as he saw fit, and without delay, he’d offed no less than a third of the Hand. A pinkie; gone, just like that. Ring finger, tarnished to the bone. He cauterized the wounds with insistence on hefting salaries otherwise, laundering money accordingly, and to every abrupt change he made, Matthew ensured he had an answer as to  _ why. _

It just wasn’t an answer everybody necessarily wanted to hear.

Nor did they want to hear him when he went to the Hand and announced that after this final project, once he had the Forge...he wouldn’t need  _ them  _ anymore. He’d move on. They’d be  _ dismissed,  _ irrelevant. “It’s not a decision I take lightly,” Matthew informed a room full of shocked board-members. “But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to ensure this city is run properly. You will be maintained as my own private network, of course - but the Hand as an organization will be dissolved. Any questions…”

The Knight, acting as a great white shadow, slammed two blades into the front of the table before him, expressionless face ashen under the low-hanging lights. Matt’s smile was lethal and ugly. 

“Just know asking them may be the last time you ask anything of anyone ever again.”

It might’ve felt abrupt, but to Eddie, what he knew of it - it made perfect sense. Though it alarmed and worried him, it aligned with everything he knew about Matthew. Since...adolescence, really - his dogged, gung-ho nature of pursuing whatever he wanted and doubling down when he didn’t get his way...he bent the world to its knees before him and those that didn’t submit were always dismissed.

And so it went. Matthew committing his grander atrocities out of the spotlight and maintaining his angelic persona to the city [“any sucker who didn’t look too closely,” some might’ve said - alright, so it was Matthew himself, and perhaps a bit of Detective Castle]. Eddie kept up with him, ever the obedient shadow, and shot Looks [or bullets] where necessary to ensure all was accomplished in accordance with his wishes.

But his insubordination had clearly cost him a great deal where the Hand was concerned. Gao went quiet, and, one by one, the other members of the organization followed. They bowed out of the spotlight themselves, gracious to Matthew’s inclinations - with as many dangerous weapons as they had to account for, he had more. The Black Sky listened only to him, Eddie was loyal only to him, and it was his name that opened doors, not those who chose to operate in the dark. That was their downfall - “no balance,” Matthew informed Eddie, hand-feeding him a chocolate-coated blueberry as they lay in bed together, entangled in the sheets. The giggle the Kingpin made at the way Eddie closed his mouth around his fingers was nothing short of pure. Lighthearted. Boyish. Eddie, more content than he’d been in months, finally felt like Matt had properly come  _ home. _

“Offboarding is such a drag,” Matthew had groaned, and Eddie had agreed - there were still many meetings to attend, still much to be done, and Peter to get back to them. God only knew what he got up to, up there, beyond them and out of their reach. 

“I’ve got a solo to run today, my love,” Matthew added, dragging Eddie’s gaze away from the ceiling and the celestial makings of the universe beyond. Their lips met and Matthew smiled between them, his voice positively a purr: “wait up for me, I won’t be long.” And he’d slipped away, whistling merrily, to get dressed in the gloom. “When I get back, we can talk vacation. Barcelona’s boring, but the weather’s so gorgeous this time of year. Or we could go up to the Maldives, really live it up.” 

“You hate the ocean, Matthew,” Eddie pointed out, watching his retreat. Matt laughed; brightly. 

“Right you are, sweetheart - we’ll workshop it. Just entertain yourself while I’m out. Brainstorm. Scheme! Practice  _ your  _ evil laugh for a change...”

Eddie, of course, did as he was told [sans evil laughter practice] - though he offered Matthew Venom to borrow, or for him to personally be waiting outside once the meeting was over. But regardless - he was declined. “Seriously. Won’t be long.”

Famous last words.

Hours ticked by, merciless and limitless. The black abyss of the night, punctured only by the sharp, stabbing glow of the desk lamp in the study yawned around Eddie. The loft felt that much more infernal, a great quiet tomb far away from anything audible the city had to offer - at least to him. Never to Matthew.

Eddie against himself on the chessboard chose to move his pieces with care, turning a bishop and a rook over between his fingers as he considered his options. He could loop ‘round the usual haunts, text Matt for the fourth time, or - 

Pain.

It was a distant, short pain, but a pain nonetheless - one that caught just under his ribs; tugging. Bad indigestion, maybe, or something phantom in the night. A ghost passing by; or someone walking across his nonexistent grave. Superstitious things, but some things in their world couldn’t be denied. The dark room loomed around him, longer and deeper. Throat to gullet. The night gulped; hollow and afraid.

Something was  _ wrong. _

As if on-cue, what felt like moments later, the door to the loft banged open. Eddie was on his feet in an instant, his feet splayed, his hands blackening as he shifted from his more humanoid shape to that of the symbiotic armor, Venom silently inquiring  **_danger, Eddie?_ ** That went without answer. The universe would be the one to explain, as the wet gush of rain over damp earth crawled in through the door, a haunting unto itself, fog chasing soaked ankles as Matthew finally came back again. 

Eddie motioned swiftly for the other security to stand down - the two men who’d come running at the sound from the back stairs dismissed with caution. Matthew stood in the doorway, a marionette with his strings cut, heavily slouched against the door - katana unsheathed in his hand, hair disheveled, and the stench - 

**_Where is our Matthew, Eddie?_ ** Venom, more vocal than usual, more Separate, spoke to him directly.  **_He is MISSING._ **

“He’s right there,” Eddie said slowly, staring at the man in the doorway. Matthew, breathing heavily, dragged himself upright. A crimson smear streaked across the door, and, with the same red right hand, Matthew ran the fingers through his hair, sweeping the sopping locks out of his freckled face. A pale face, dotted with cinnamon - creamy complexion reduced to something grayish in the rain; spectral and shivering.

The brief hesitation oozed away as Eddie shifted out of his armored shape, squirming out of his jacket immediately to offer it to the trembling Kingpin. His husband. His love.  _ The love of his life.  _

“Matthew - Matthew, what’s happened? What’s--” The smell struck again; something like - gravedirt. Like oily decay. Mildew, or - something. The moldering of old places, aged architecture. Moss and something more. More, and more than he wanted to know. “You’ve been down in the crypt?” He guessed warily, jacket still extended. Matthew blinked, then blinked again, straightening upright a little bit more. 

With almost mechanical connection, clockwork gears clicked into place. 

“Of course I have,” Matthew said abruptly, snatching the jacket out of Eddie’s hands with a faint frown. “Where else would I be? Someone has to maintain the order. The Substance isn’t replenishing. We’ve got work to do to remedy that.” Eddie watched Matthew stalk past him, a wave of consternation and iciness following. It was nothing against the cold that coiled up in Eddie’s chest, however - still sitting on that dull, throbbing pain that came and went, but faded away more by the minute. Stress-driven, perhaps. 

But then again, that feeling...the way his hair rose on the back of his neck just to be around Matthew...bad moods could be like that where he was concerned, Eddie supposed. However…

“Matthew my love,” Eddie said slowly, watching Matthew head for the bathroom via robotic strides, Eddie’s head cocked to the side, watching him. “Why don’t we just - wait for Peter to return? He said he’s on his way back to us. He’s bringing the solution to the Substance, remember?” Matthew went still by the door, inhaling slowly - and turned, tilting his head in Eddie’s general direction. He seemed to be processing, and, though nothing in the air suggested the use of drugs or alcohol - it was as if the thoughts were moving slower than usual. Exhaustion, perhaps. 

Or something worse, nagged the superstitious, suspicious part of Eddie’s paranoid brain. Matthew smiled then, sudden and sharp, and lifted his head, swiveling with his hands outstretched, katana still clutched in one of them.

“How could I forget, with you here to remind me? But - see where our starlit friend’s gone off to, won’t you, darling? I am in desperate need of a shower. And sleep.” Eddie opened his mouth to ask Matthew something else, but the other man had tossed his katana onto the ornate table in the hall, swanning off into the bathroom without further delay. “If you need to sleep in the office,” he called back as the door swung closed, “feel free - I need you on the ground for this one, Edward. All hands on deck.”

The words fell like discarded pennies to a pauper’s tin, and Eddie felt the offering pass him by, delivered elsewhere in the congregation of murmuring security beyond. 

“...Get back to it,” he ordered the two men still waiting with the AKs in their hands. They scattered like roaches before the light, scampering off toward their respective patrols once more. Eddie, anxious, stared at the bathroom door for a long time - there was no theatrical singing in the shower, no music. Nothing but the hiss of steaming water and the now all-encompassing scent of something unearthed that should not’ve been.

But Matt was here, despite Venom’s now-silent unease, and all would be well.

It had to be.

Except that it wasn’t.

In the days that followed - three days, like some unholy mockery of the number known for its Catholic connotations - Eddie felt Matthew pull back. Away from him, buried in work, suddenly that much more interested in the activities of the Hand again. 

In a fit of excitement, distractedly leafing through his paperwork, Matthew told him, “we might’ve found a way to adapt the Substance  _ with  _ symbiotic genetic strands, isn’t that  _ exciting,  _ Edward? Infinite Substance, everlasting. We may not need the Forge after all.” 

“I thought the project was tabled for now until Elsa perfected the genetic anomalies,” Eddie pointed out - and nothing in his tone suggested insubordination, but - 

The katana ramming hard into the wood beside his hand, between his fingers, seemed to suggest otherwise. Matthew’s brief glimmer of a good mood, consumed by the clouds of his face, cautioned Eddie stop that line of thought and move on along. Slowly curling his fingers away from the weapon, Eddie inclined his head in mute apology. Matthew, irritated, pressed on:

“No time like the present to invoke new testing. With so many  _ willing volunteers,  _ these days, who could possibly say no?” He’d stood when Eddie’d leaned in, moving away from him at once. “I’m going back to the grindstone today, darling, try not to interrupt me unless it’s something vitally important.” And he’d swept off again, not so much as a kiss farewell or a brush of his finger to Eddie’s hand.

That had been the first tell - if the way Matthew now shied from his touch and waved him off weren’t already. Eddie tried to reason with himself - that Matthew was simply consumed by his needs as he wrapped up things with the Hand, but - his usual foods he turned his nose up at, he hadn’t had a drink in days, and he refused, for whatever reason, to rest. All night long, Eddie felt he could hear him pacing - sleeping, still, in the study, while he gave Matthew the space he claimed he needed. But the cold couch and the soft blankets offered little in terms of comfort. He wanted to go upstairs and hold him, but - 

Matthew had refused him. More than once. And vehemently so. Nightly; Eddie reached out to communicate to Peter, but - therein too was silence, chill, and static. Nothing but void. Nothing but questions without answers.

Inhaling slowly, Eddie centered himself. Right. He was sitting behind the mahogany desk, the tick just talking away in the clock with its pendulum hammer. A judge’s gavel, time moving the way it chose to, marching steadily on. Blind Lady Justice with her arm outstretched, the scales of which held a class ring and a quill, some mockery of life and death. A heart and feather, like the Egyptian tales of old. Mythos; weighing the dead.

Something about that didn’t sit right with him. Eddie frowned, reaching out to run his calloused fingers across either side of the smooth, tawny item, and the downy pen turned, aimlessly orbiting in place. Up it pointed, then down - as it drifted off the scales, which sank with the thick, gaudy ring, toward the desk.

His ring, in fact - something Matthew had apparently kept all this time, unbeknownst to Eddie. The not-sapphire in it winked bemusedly as he plucked that, too, from the upheld scales, curling it in his palm. He could still picture Matt the day he gave it to him.

“ _ This must’ve cost you dearly, _ ” doe-like face in awe as they huddled up under the stairwell. Forbidden, even then, more than they were now. They’d known each other before this, after all, despite the rumors. They’d met, they’d loved, they’d left, and now - back again, the familiar had returned. Intensified. And all the memories Eddie held so dear floated back to the surface now, unbidden. 

Matt’s uniform; pristine, thought the tie was slightly-undone. Eddie, in clothes that were faded, but ironed to perfection, trying to live up to the expectations of appearance despite that. The warmth of their breath mingling, the risk of something so bold filling him with more excitement than he’d ever had before - 

“ _ Nothing in this world is as dear to me as you. _ ” Matt’s face lighting up at his words, bright and disbelieving - before he laughed, that soft, shivery giggle that hunched his shoulders and dropped the curtain of dark red around his face like the spilling of wine. Eddie brushed it aside, kissed his cheek, then his temple, adorning him with all the affection he could muster.

_ “Then I’ll treasure it.” _ The ring, cold in his hand, gaped up at him, a circle of accusation. Of understanding.  _ “Always.” _

Missing.

Eddie shoved the ring into his pocket and inhaled. It was childhood, that’s all it was - adolescent puppy love, far less than what they had now. He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and made sure every iota of his outfit was pressed to perfection. Black, cobalt, and navy to offset the crimson, salmon, and cream. Always the shadow to the bright scarlet Western Sun of the hand; a sunset to their great arrogance. Red skies at night; Kingpin’s delight. And Eddie Brock would always be the night that followed.

And so: he did. 

Against orders for the third time at least; like the fever before and the halting of a violent act against himself, Eddie ignored Matthew’s direct discussion for him to stay put while he worked in secret. And he tapped into the tether of darkness that bound them both, following the thread of Venom’s presence in his life; how many times Matthew had asked to borrow them - of course they knew how to find him again. They could sense any host they’d occupied, within reason. And now - 

Now their pace took them to an empty warehouse down by the docks. Ominous, cliche, typical of the nature of their business ventures, but still somewhat-unsettling for a nothing-Thursday; late morning to early afternoon. 

It was the smell that hit them both first this time, however - man and symbiote; bloodhounds of another world were engulfed by the tide of bloody iron, copper, and refuse. There was a wet squelching of organs, as if someone was rifling through entrails, trying to divine purpose therein. Eddie sucked in a short breath to steady himself and swung around smoothly to the front of the building.

Inside it was a massacre. On the concrete floor; blood dyed the cement a permanent shade of ruby. The glistening, sticky remains all rippled together, piles upon piles of bodies. Severed heads sat in neat rows, agape in surprise. Eddie met glassy-eyed gaze after glassy-eyed gaze as he stepped in across the threshold, then chanced a look up.

On hooks overhead hung little containers; caged, with writhing darkness inside of them in varying hues. A little sickly canary yellow, pulsating vermillion, grayish-purple, bluish-black - all manner of nasty, pustule-prickling, warty things rocking themselves in their translucent cradles.

“Get them - I said get them  _ down  _ and see how many they can split off into in order to make this work. If we can achieve three resurrections at once, then--” Matthew paused, sleeves rolled up, white shirt gashed; splashed with more of the same-old, same-old. His bloodied features - not his own blood, Eddie realized instantly - twisted with annoyance. Not disappointment, or dismay, or sorrow, or regret, no - just annoyance. As if Eddie’s presence here was an intrusion.

As he’d been shooting him the same look, off and on again, for the past little while. Distant. Detached.

And entirely not himself.

“Matthew,” Eddie said, slowly looking around them both, “what  _ is  _ this?” Workers, blind workers, Gao’s people - rifled through the pile of bodies without a word, dutifully compliant. Matthew worked his jaw and began to stride toward Eddie with an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Edward - you shouldn’t have come. This doesn’t concern you.”

“What - this? In broad daylight, this doesn’t concern me?” Eddie asked, voice rising slightly higher. He’d never shouted at Matthew - never once, and this wasn’t quite a yell, either. Eddie wasn’t entirely sure he was capable of that, given how silent he so often was. Matthew snapped his head back as if struck, however - and in a way, he did seem  _ struck,  _ struck by how Eddie talked back to him. As if he hadn’t calculated for that. And he hadn’t.

He’d never had to before, he thought - had he?

“It’s fine,” Matthew said, irritably. “We’ve paid off the dock workers. The cops are in our pockets. Tell me what, exactly, is your issue?”

“You didn’t include me in this,” Eddie said, flat, honest as ever. “You haven’t said a word, and you haven’t been acting right since you came home the other night.” Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie swore he saw one of the workers tilt their heads - and a pinkie move in their direction. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. Whatever the case, the brief distraction was enough.

Without warning or even sound - not breath, not  _ heartbeat,  _ Eddie realized, a horrified second too late - the katana Matthew called an extension of himself; a longer reach to a mighty arm plunged into his chest, just under his ribs - and up. It was a direct echo of the pain he’d felt the night Matt had come home,  **_but hadn’t._ **

“I’m tired of you,” Matt said softly into his ear. His foot rose as Eddie’s legs began to buckle, and rammed hard against a thigh, driving him down to the floor more quickly, the blade shifting upright through his ribs, headed toward the top of his chest with the ease of heat against butter. Blackish, brackish oil spilled, slithering, trying to shove the blade free - but the warehouse was full of something he couldn’t quite hear. It scrambled his brain. It made Venom thrash and scream, weakening within him. Matthew dipped into a crouch to keep speaking to him as he shoved Eddie down further, teeth slightly bared.

“Here’s the thing,  _ sweetheart. _ ” The wedding band shimmered on Matt’s hand, at eye-level with Eddie from the angle of Matt’s hand on the hilt of his weapon. The blade  _ twisted,  _ and Eddie groaned around a mouthful of rising bilious blood. 

“I don’t need you.” It hurt worse than the knife. “I’ve  _ never  _ needed you.” Matthew smiling at him under the stairs, under the stars, under the painted light of stained glass in their private sanctuary. Reunited, reignited, back in love - as if they’d ever left. It all flashed before him, across the unforgiving, unbothered face of the man Eddie swore he no longer knew. 

But in that, too, Eddie thought maybe - just maybe - there was a trickle of regret. A tear. Or sweat from exertion, who could say. But it trailed down Matt’s cheek as he took in a trembling breath - 

And  _ wrenched  _ the sword free. 

Eddie plunged back against the stained floor. The supersonic waves of subatomic sound poured across him, static cling; wrapping him up in a cellophane layer of immobilization. He couldn’t breathe past all the pain. All the blood. All the agony.

“ _ Pick him up, _ ” Matthew ordered; distantly. The ceiling overhead wavered. “ _ Throw him in the harbor. And Edward, if you live… _ ” He felt his arms and legs, seized and hauled upright. The suffering; stabbing, oozing  _ hurt  _ was everywhere. He clawed against it, trying to latch onto him - his man, his  _ boy,  _ the love of his life - 

“ _ Don’t bother coming back. You aren’t welcome here. _ ”

Matthew - or whatever it was that now wore his face - watched the pathetic display of a pale hand, splattered with ebony and agony, reach for him without moving. 

It was only when he heard the telltale splash of nasty city liquid swallowing its refuse that he turned back to the task at hand, motioning for one of the cages to be lowered. 

Somewhere inside the ocean, inside the heart of one man or both, there were screams. There was bubbling fury. There was passion. There was love.

And somewhere beyond the water that closed over Eddie Brock’s head, there was a little glimmer of hope in the form of lavender light.


	16. Worthless to the last...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what do you do when the man you love literally, not figuratively, breaks your heart and guts you?  
> you thank your lucky stars.

###  \--Die.

Prom that night had been a  _ beautiful  _ affair. He’d debated with himself whether or not he was actually going to go, paced for hours up and down the hall - till Elsa told him to get out “or I’ll kick you out myself”. 

He could picture all the streamers, the balloons, the  _ leave-room-for-Jesus  _ signs posted at the doors. All the while, the purplish-blue lights rained down over the auditorium, a moratorium to the school year and the end of their junior year. Senior year loomed, the end was extremely fucking night, and nothing in the world seemed permanent. 

Except the moment Matt turned when he spoke his name.  _ Matthew.  _ And the girl he was with; and her face of pure disdain.  _ Brock.  _ The  _ weirdo. _ The quiet shadow in the back of the class with the ears and mouth that didn’t fit together right with the rest of him, always by Matt’s side whenever possible.  _ The poor boy. _ That’s what the teachers called him. When they thought he wasn’t paying attention.

“ _ Darling, _ ” Matt called him, bright and sweet as the moonlight making its way valiantly against the glowing theme. Something like... _ Under the Sea Dance _ , or something. Their school colors clashed horrifically with the aquamarine, lilac, and mauve _.  _ Cindy had let Eddie cut in, stomping off to sulk by the wall, but - 

Then he and Matthew had spent the night dodging danger and laughing, caught up in the moment. They shared a flask Matt’d snuck in [naturally], a forbidden little kiss of whiskey between the shadows. The lockers hid them well enough when need be, as did the bleachers. They’d had to shush one another, or, more aptly, Eddie had to shush Matt - covering his mouth with a hand, kissing him into giddy near-silence as he could get. 

They were full of it;  _ life,  _ positively singing with it.Matt with his whole future ahead of him; early acceptance to Empire State University, should he keep on the course he was, and Eddie, well - 

He didn’t think he’d be able to afford to go [despite Matt’s tipsy insistence “ _ I’ll get you there, I’ll pay for it myself, you can be my paralegal, Eddie, wouldn’t that be splendid _ ”], much less make a decision that took him anywhere further than a few feet from Matt. Inseparable. Entangled.

And, as they kissed under the stars in the garden behind the statue of St. Christopher that night - 

Hopelessly, desperately in love.

_ Eddie. _

The sound of his name came again, gently urgent, imploring. Not  _ Edward,  _ as that’d been...soured. Used one too many times by - why was it so hard to hold onto that? Easier still to stay in the memory of dewy grasses staining their sleeves, Matthew ducking them around the bushes and walls; the hallways, the tables - always two steps ahead of danger. They were untouchable together, two wayward boys loosed upon a Catholic school ill-equipped to deal with shenanigans. 

Matthew had convinced him to rearrange the books in the library - quickly; so as not to be caught. Blasphemous arrangements spelling atrocities and symbols to frighten the nuns and priests. Arranging the chairs in meticulous, phantasmic stacks atop the tables and trying not to titter them all down in the process. “ _ Poltergeists don’t get the GIGGLES, Edward Charles Allan! _ ” 

Love letters written in braille; their own secret language, each one resting against Eddie’s lips before being tucked neatly away under his shabby pillows at night. And Matthew, who almost wore the pages down from how he pressed them beneath his fingers, keeping them longer than he let on.

Forever.

It always felt like forever, when they were that young. 

A first kiss shared backstage in the heat of the moment, when Eddie hadn’t even worked up to telling Matthew how he felt about him. How he’d wanted to be better for him. Presentable. Eloquent; poised, charming, succinct. Whatever he needed. Eddie wanted to be it.

He wanted...to be  _ needed _ . Needed that. 

Needed  _ him. _

**_< Eddie!>_ **

_ He’s bad news for you,  _ Elsa had warned him, overriding whatever the strange interruption was this time.  _ He’s bad news, and he’ll be  _ **_the death of you someday._ **

Ignoring the signals, just as in reality, Eddie’s mind sauntered back to another happy place. It went right to the ring under the stairs. Matt’s brow pressed to his, his nose scrunched, breathless with laughter.  _ It must’ve cost you a fortune…! _

He was still laughing when the ring became a sword in his hand and he impaled Eddie when he leaned in for a kiss. Judas laughed in his ear, and the blade twisted  _ right. _

**_Worthless to the last._ **

Shooting upright, Eddie nearly collided with Peter as the other man, bent over him, jerked back to avoid the collision. “Flarking--Eddie!” Blue eyes darted anxiously around the confines of the space they occupied - a fine, opaque room of black and shimmering metal, humming walls, and low, soft lighting. One hand scrabbled for purchase on the bed beneath him before - 

“Eddie, hey -  _ hey. _ ” Soft hands found his face and turned him back around, and the feeling secured him - rather than angered him. Peter swallowed, risking a nervous little laugh as he surveyed the other man, thumbs sweeping back and forth slowly across his sharp cheekbones. “Hey...you with me, Edward?”

“Eddie,” he replied weakly. Something in his voice sounded raw, sounded  _ wrong,  _ everything tasted  _ horrible,  _ and he couldn’t stop  _ shivering.  _ Venom curled up, quaking, somewhere inside of him until he could think of something else to say. “Our - my name is...is Eddie.” He’d go with that. Go  _ by  _ that. Till everything else was gone.

“Okay, Eddie,” Peter soothed, scooting nearer on the edge of the bed. Eddie locked up with fear, black veins crawling, and Peter went perfectly still, studying him. The agitation on his face only grew as Peter’s hands slid down his neck instead, then smoothed across his shoulders. “...What do you remember? Breathe for me, okay? Just tell me what you recall.”

“...Matt,” Eddie swung around in place, scrambling back on the bed. Both hands fumbled for a shirt that wasn’t his, he didn’t recognize the material, it was slippery and vinyl as an eel and  _ beneath it  _ \- 

“Breathe,” Peter said again, and this time, when he spoke, there was an echoing  _ command  _ to his voice that dissuaded otherwise. Heart hammering, Eddie looked up at him, the emperor who had his hand on his arm, fingers fastened around a volley of scars; a tally of tick marks as the sleeve slipped away. Steady hazel eyes held anxious blue, and Peter squeezed, just a little, around the pulse. “You are on my ship,” he explained patiently, “I lent you some clothes after we fished you out of the water. You’re alright now. Just...reorienting.” 

The water - right. His hand slipped down his front, undoing a few buttons, and - nothing. Just a scar, which he supposed couldn’t be helped. Venom was crying out piteously for more sustenance. He needed to eat. They both did. But - Matthew...wherever he was, whatever he was doing, they needed...to find him. And stop him. Because -

It  _ wasn’t  _ him.

And Eddie didn’t even know if seeing him again was even…

His thoughts flooded away; color draining from an already-ashen face, and he found himself having to frantically blink away moisture. Drowning again in a different way.

“How,” Eddie rasped at last, blinking owlishly. “How’d you...know? To come find me…” Peter hesitated, then settled back, hand leaving Eddie’s arm to encircle the bottom half of his own face instead; studying him. Considering. 

“...Your messages all reached me at once. When I came back into the quadrant.” Leaning away, Peter poked at a panel on the wall, and Eddie heard the gravelly bass of his own voice reach out through the speakers of space-time:

“ _I know you’re probably up there; sidetracked, fighting some great celestial war or doting on some cosmic official...but Matt needs you._ ” A breath. “ _I need you.”_ Then, softest yet: _“Come home._ ” Peter lifted his finger from the panel and gazed at Eddie - who’d gone red as much as a man with significant blood loss possibly could - expectantly.

“...What did you mean by ‘come home’?” Peter inquired mildly. Eddie’s eyes couldn’t possibly go wider, but his voice did crack slightly at the query, disbelieving.

“ _ That’s  _ what you want to ask me? Peter -” Title forgotten, name half-scoffed, Eddie found himself cut off by a flick of a wrist, a wave of a hand.

“I want to know,” Peter insisted, barely-holding back the shit-eating grin Eddie knew had to be eminent. 

“We are  _ wasting  _ valuable time,” Eddie retorted; sharper than before. Peter pursed his lips and shook his head, checking an imaginary watch - or maybe one so technologically-advanced, Eddie couldn’t seem to see it. Whatever the case, the Emperor of Spartax sighed melodramatically and scooched closer to Eddie on the bed yet again.

“No, I’m afraid the recovery period isn’t over yet. You…” Peter hesitated, eyes searching Eddie’s face. “...Weren’t in great shape when I found you, Eddie. I tracked the Venom molecules to your location and...it was surprising, to say the least, seeing the harbor below the ship and no sign of you.” Surprising was one way of putting it. Another had been the sudden dread he’d felt, the readings from his scanners picking up a massive loss of life nearby - and one waning the deeper it drifted into the fathoms below.

He hadn’t even thought about it. For whatever reason, fine clothes and his hair hadn’t mattered. For what felt like only the second time in his life, he’d acted on blessed impulse, nobody’s orders but his own, no obligation or duty, just...spontaneous reaction. 

He’d driven back the water - commanded the elements - as he descended in a dive, the waves of filth streaking away from him, ushered by the unseen and undeniable forces. Into the black the boy twined in lavender and sky-blue light descended; a drop of twilight before dawn - and rose with Eddie in his arms, bursting headlong out of the abyss, clutching him tight.

His hand fell to Eddie’s now; squeezing. Grounding. In a way he didn’t; normally - it was typical of Peter to take off first, to flit away on the air. No attachment meant no pain, he was free to scour the universe in search of all its infinite infinitesimal joys. 

But when Peter’s gaze met a blue so deep and dark it was almost like a brushstroke of the night sky, all he saw, for a second or so, was a loss just narrowly-avoided - echoed in one he’d had to live with for however long it had been.

He tried not to think about it. But sometimes, that was all he could do. 

_ Eddie!  _ His hands on Eddie’s chest, suddenly streaked with wriggling black and pulsing brownish-red. The soaked man shuddering, pulse faint, on the floor of his fine empire ship. The scrambling of crew and medics as they took him away, the Emperor left to kneel for a second on the floor, surrounded by refuse. 

There was no mistaking the line that’d been carved in the other man - one blade’s shape; sharp and to the point as the man who wielded it - but the question was  _ why? _ He hadn’t been able to track Matthew, either - something about his readings had been distorted. Warped by outside forces. He traced the area signal back to the biodegradation he’d caught wind of only to find a stain on a warehouse floor, hooks jingling as they swayed on the ceiling, and nothing else. The moaning of ancient machinery run by ghostly hands of memory; steel and iron. 

And then he’d come back, once he’d received word Eddie was alright. Stable, if nothing else - pumped full of nutrients and fluid, his body on the mend, though he’d need to rest to let the delivery of fuel to Venom encourage the symbiote’s healing abilities to full capacity again. 

But he hadn’t been able to go with him to the med bay. Hadn’t been able to be near him beyond the rescue from the water. Peter cursed himself internally for the weakness, and held onto Eddie while he could, now - 

“I said  _ ‘come home’ _ ,” Eddie’s voice snapped him back to the moment, too, even more than the too-cool fingers moving beneath his own clammy palm. “Because...to Matthew, you are a part of home, now.” Something about that sentence, that disjointed combination of words half-mumbled by a man whose mouth barely moved when he was embarrassed - was that what he was, just now? - made Peter’s gut jump. Butterflies; writhing free of chrysalises long since forgotten. Filling his chest with amplified flutters. His heart was pushed to his throat by their great migration. 

“...To me,” Eddie added, quieter still, “home. Things have been - too quiet, without you.” Peter laughed automatically out of instinct - blinking rapidly in spite of himself. “No arguments, just...maybe if you’d been here, you could’ve...talked him down, I’ve never been able to talk him out of anything, I just...we…” Eddie pulled Peter’s hand unexpectedly up to his lips and pressed them close, eyes screwing shut. Peter, half-fumbling for purchase from how he’d been forced to lean in, went perfectly still. Oily kohl crept across his knuckles. Man and symbiote; overflowing with sorrow. 

“We were not enough,” Eddie said - small and plaintive. It was something that cried out to Peter across the universe, across time and space - a man many years younger, screaming in protest at a loss he couldn’t stop.  _ Not enough.  _

“Hey - don’t say that,” Peter murmured, knocking his head against Eddie’s as the final maneuver across the bed brought them close enough together to do so, “don’t  _ say  _ that, Eddie. Whatever’s happened - just...tell me what you know, we’ll go from there. But...we’ll fix this. I’ll fix this, now that I’m here. Just like I fixed you…” Because he could, now. He had the power. Power solved everything. That was his resolve, anyway. Eddie, swallowing, glanced back up at him from under lashes that still dripped with oil, the kerosene discomfort of a man ashamed of his own shortcomings. One wrong word, one flinty look, and he might go up in flames.

“The Forge?” Eddie asked Peter, softly. Peter blinked - then smiled, shaking his head.

“No, baby,”  _ baby.  _ It slipped out, the way his thumbs slipped across great black rivers to redirect their course. “I don’t need the Forge for anything. You came back to me ‘cuz I wanted you to. I wished you better.” 

“You...wished me better?” Eddie’s incredulity grappled with the thickness in his throat.

“...Okay, so, I know how that sounds, but - it’ll take some explaining. And we need to form a plan. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine. That kinda thing.” Tawny brows wiggled and Eddie shot Peter a pained expression. “Oh, fine. Non-innuendo, then.”

“Non-innuendo,” Eddie agreed, smiling wearily in spite of himself. Peter pulled him back against the pillows in a dramatic drop of gravity, holding him close. Eddie froze for a second, realizing, after a moment, this was the first time he’d been held like this in days. Peter, seeming to sense the hesitation, began to withdraw - but Eddie curled a hand around his arm, and held him steady. One hand drew Peter’s palm to his mouth again, and Eddie closed his eyes, bestowing gratitude with his lips once again.

“I’m right here,” Peter said, voice softened by the sentimentality of it all, “walk me through it. All of it. From the start. Make it last - I’ll tell you when we’re good to go.” 

Eddie took a breath, wanting to protest, but even the thought of that was exhausting. Especially protesting Peter, who, like Matthew, always seemed to get what he wanted. Eddie, eyes fluttering open, raised his gaze to the ceiling - and, in the semi-silence of onyx confines, held by a boy made of gold - told Peter a story. 

The truth, but a fairytale. 

“In a Catholic school of no consequence in upstate New York, there was once a very clever boy with eyes like honey who was always in the company of a boy made out of shadow…”


	17. Never expected it to be you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the Hand can crush true love.  
> In theory, anyway.

###  _ “Tell me it’s forever.” _

The voices were back again. No matter how hard he hacked at the limbs; dismembering the disobedient did nothing to drown out the soft, deep voice that sounded not unlike the dripping of a great, black well. 

Or — no, Matthew realized, inhaling slowly. The  _ drip, drip, drip  _ was the blood coursing down his face, the slow, slithering slide of moisture from the lives he’d taken mere moments before. 

Hours? 

Hours, maybe. The overhead lights were hissing and sparkling. The right fluorescent on the left was about to go. Fuck, he wished someone would change it. Or put it out of its fucking misery. It made his skin overheat and crawl to feel the electric charge this close to his skin [yards away, might as well have been directly presses against him like a loved one] —

_ “Please, Matthew,” _ the voice ghosted; coasting across his neck, moving from ear to ear.  _ “Tell me it’s forever.” _

With a cry, he swung back in the infernal darkness, his eternal fucking abyssal  _ nightmare _ — and sliced at nothing. The katana sung through the air and trembled. No. His hand was trembling. Why couldn’t he —

“I can’t…” stumbling, Matthew felt the world reel around him, mouth opening silently. “I can’t — see.” The words came short and choppy, waves disrupted by a whining motor without escape. A car spinning its tires in the mud. “Why — why can’t I — I can’t see, I can’t see, why can’t I see?”

“Calm yourself,” a voice said. A woman. Maybe. He couldn’t discern. The direction made it sound as though it came from — everywhere. It consumed him, crashing down, a sigh of static.  _ Loudspeaker? _ “You have had an accident. Many years ago. It took your sight. You see other ways.”

“Why,” he cried, pathetic. Feeble. He sounded wrong. “Why me? Where — where am I? Where is…” a feeling came to his fingers. Tally-Mark scars, rubbed smooth by his hands. His digits fanning across a broad chest, narrow hips, a back that rose like a cobra hood; rippling danger. The scent of ink and coffee.  _ Blood. _ Dashing a hand against his cheek, Matthew swiped the substance aside, tears and murk mingling. Ichor. His own cortisol was making him  _ gag.  _ “Where is he?”

“Who?” The same voice asked, calm and complacent. 

“The, um—!” Why was it so bloody hard to  _ think?  _ Matthew wanted to  _ scream.  _ “The MAN! The one who’s always with me, my shadow—!” Wet fingers snapped, slapping together; sticky and slick. “He’s — you know who he is! He’s mine, and I want him here, now!” His voice trembled, though he tried for authority. Command in a way he didn’t fully understand. He had to try. For some reason, he needed...it was all slipping away so fast, he couldn’t — catch his breath, he felt so cold, there was  _ so much pain  _ in his stomach; his chest, like indigestion but a thousand times worse, and he was so tired, so —

The air tasted wrong. 

Metallic. And wet concrete. Freshly-poured. Clay. Iron. Bronze. Aged bronze, that made his head  _ buzz _ . The room he was in was so  _ small _ there was only the — scents. The lights. The sensations. The voice. 

His bare feet  _ squelched  _ in the crimson refuse, crushing cartilage and membranous texture between his toes. Amber eyes rolled in agony, disgust shuddering through him. The man clutching the sword’s breath frosted in the air. A cloud. Drifting. 

_ Adrift. Learning. Goal. Sink. See. Unseeing. Unwavering.  _

_ Unwanted.  _

_ Undone. _

“Where am I?” He asked again, softer. 

Then many hands, pulling him out of a dark cell. Asking — testing, touching, so much  _ touching,  _ feeling — DEAD hands, damp with skin-slip, cloying,  **_CLAWING_ ** till there’d be nothing LEFT of him! Leprous, diseased things long gone, writhing with decomp—

When he tried to scream, his mouth filled with sand. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Everything focused in to a singular white-hot pinprick of light. Pure pain. He was pain, a condensed and collapsing supernova. White dwarf. About to disappear, and he — he was — he  _ was _ —! 

“Who are you?”

The light was back. It hummed anxiously above him. He could feel it pinch his skin tight. Tents of dehydration. Of unease. His shoulders rose; his spine shook, and he exhaled. Thinking. Easy question, right?

...right?

Right...he was —

“...I don’t know, I can’t — I can’t…” Except he couldn’t even  _ speak _ . He could _ think  _ the words, but all that seemed to come to the surface was something of a gasping breath. 

He had...nothing. It was oddly still and quiet. Cold. 

And perpetually dark. 

_ Was this Hell? _

“Speech will return in time. We’ve expedited the process. A few hours should suffice. We will explain everything,” said the voice. The man found himself nodding along, slowly. What else could he do? Till he knew...when he knew. 

There was a memory, an old one, of a sky so blue it was  _ impossible _ . He could still recall  _ blue.  _ And  _ stars.  _ And the giggling laughter that came from jokes told under somebody’s breath, the swish of a long coat on a dance floor, being held closer than was  _ acceptable _ and otherwise - blue. Blue light.  _ Blue-white. _

_ “Forget me not,” _ came to him. A kiss, chaste, of boyhood and long Summers where they snuck communion wine. Like the final wisp of candle-smoke, like the dissolution of a wafer at church, it came holy and wholly to him — the full-lipped love that stole his breath more gently than the night. His whisper as a ring all but scarred his palm with the force of his own grip. 

_ Hold onto what you love. Both hands.  _

And then, water, smoke, incense, indent, kiss, and memory — were gone. 

Bronze keys jingled like bells as somewhere, a box closed. For good. For now. 

“You have work to do,” the voice told him patiently. Still nodding, entranced, he allowed himself to be pulled from his seat with a clink of chains. “Give him his sword, gentlemen.” Gnarled hands wrapped leathery fingers around the head of a cane. He heard the way they  _ creaked  _ and didn’t know how he  _ knew. _

“Let’s run it again.”

_ Lights.  _

Elsewhere, other lights were dawning. 

For everything he was, and everything people thought of him, Peter Quill was a very good listener. 

He remembered things about people. He heard, and he absorbed, and he brought it up later. When they least expected it, in meetings with officials or in front of their families, he laid out what he’d learned and knew when to show his hand. His plans [even at 12%] were flawless [gambles, bets, and wagers]; measured by impulse and intake of information at speeds quicker than seemed possible.

So when Eddie started telling him about the life that came before, Peter listened and learned. He absorbed what he could; which was everything a king could ask for - a story told in the obsidian confines of his shimmering sky-palace, lounging against the pillows and finery with a beautiful man in his arms. 

They’d grown up together, apparently, Eddie and Matthew. They’d attended school together - the pauper’s son; lapsed Catholic at best, whose sister was brains when it came to science and physiology. She wanted to study  _ forensics.  _ But she got into genetics instead; later, and Eddie - 

Eddie was a boy who struggled to take shape in the shadows, who quietly moved chess pieces around, who wrote things down and doodled. Applied himself with all his might; and, yes, he too had brains, but - he was distracted by details. Embedded in them, really. So often he got attached to one specific thing and could only think of that-that-that-that-that--

“Breathe,” Peter told him again, and held his face. Watery blue eyes had blinked, and Eddie had settled, drawing Peter gently back into the rhythm of the story. 

Matthew had been everybody’s darling. Teachers went easier on him than they might other people - due to his  _ condition,  _ of course, he was left  _ unchecked  _ in his ambitions. He came to school knowing how to charm, he came with a twinkling smile that didn’t quite reach eyes the color of malt liquor; warm and honeyed pools into which the unwary fell, sticking fast. Wanting to stay on his good side, for the bad - 

The bad was  _ brutal. _

And yet he pretended that he wasn’t. He was class president. He was excellent at debate. His grades were perfect. His hair; his face, his uniform - always perfect. Even when he bashed another kid’s head into a locker at the end of freshman year, he was...perfect. Spattered with blood from where the other boy’s nose had busted, Matthew was radiant - laughing a little, breathless, in spite of it all.

And everyone agreed that Thomas had simply tripped and fallen into the locker door. Clumsy,  _ stupid  _ Thomas.

“He liked danger,” Eddie murmured, and turned his face enough to tuck into Peter’s shoulder. The other man brushed his fingers across Eddie’s scalp, scritching the short locks thoughtfully. His brow furrowed slightly. 

“Likes.”

“Hm?” Eddie glanced up, and Peter looked down, his hand gingerly tilting Eddie’s face up by the chin to speak more steadily - directly to him.

“ _ Likes, _ Eddie,” Peter said firmly, “he isn’t gone. Not yet.”

“...Right,” Eddie whispered, and pressed a grateful kiss after a beat of hesitation [and a tap of Peter’s finger to his own cheek; granting permission] against Peter’s skin. “Right you are.”

It was actually astounding, in a way - listening to Eddie talk about everything as if he genuinely...never forgot a single detail. Everything came together brightly and brilliantly, a tapestry stitched with love, word after word, concept after concept, until Peter was all but walking the hallways of the holy school in the midst of all therein. 

Eddie had begun to show up to theater and debate, even though he did neither, just to watch Matthew perform - and Matthew, in turn, had taken to the affection like a fish to water, thriving in the environment of the focus he received. 

When he’d finally cornered Eddie and asked him about himself -  _ “what’s your deal anyway?” _ \- Matthew had apparently been delighted to witness Eddie stricken with fear and uncertain - but once they’d begun talking, they...hadn’t stopped. The janitor had to come and chase them away from where they’d ditched last period to sit under the stairs and just…

Talk.

Matthew loved to talk. Maybe even more than Peter did. And there’d been  _ rings  _ and  _ dances  _ and  _ vows  _ and  _ promises,  _ and all the enviable little cliches that came from high school romance. Peter listened to all of it, and he tried, dutifully, to ignore the way anger gnawed at his heart.

No - not anger.

Resentment, maybe. Disappointment. He should’ve been enough to come in and sweep anyone off their feet with his  _ own  _ charm, with his  _ own  _ sway, but here - 

Here there was Eddie, stalwart and stoic, a constant in Matthew’s life that Peter hadn’t accounted for. See; when making a plan, sometimes he only tended to look at the variables - he isolated them and made sure every scenario was considered. He’d considered Matthew might have somebody before he showed up, certainly, but - 

“Never expected it to be you,” Peter murmured, stirring Eddie out of mid-speech. The stillness that followed was crushing, and Eddie, face still held by one of Peter’s doting hands, looked at him worriedly. It was more emotion than Peter had ever seen him wear, or show - more so than even his anger, cold and icy, or his fear upon waking in the ship after the rescue.

There was something so poignantly  _ wounded  _ about the expression that Peter, too, felt gutted. The phantom pain he wasn’t a part of; twofold, damn near broke his composure. His thumb curved across Eddie’s cheekbone as the other man kissed his palm, still looking at him with anxious eyes the color of cobalt. 

“...Sorry?” Eddie offered, oddly meek. Peter blinked - then laughed, something short and brassy, before kissing his forehead.

“No - no no, baby, it’s - just thinking out loud. You both surprise me, but…this is good!” Peter brushed it all aside with a smile, motioning impatiently via hand. “It’ll help. I need to know this stuff in case it...helps. And I think it might. From what you’re telling me, maybe he’s under some kind of control. And if we break him out of it, maybe he’ll be fine...”

Eddie’s eyes ticked away as Peter spoke, then flitted back again - and, inhaling slowly, he let the realization hit him as hard as it could. It banged like flesh against steel. Like a cry in the night. Like the splintering of wood or a five-alarm fire. Up and up and up it rose until it bloomed like a mushroom cloud of horror in his head, spilling out between his teeth in a rush of dismay:

“The Substance.”

“The - resource thingy I’m supposed to be replacing with the Forge?” Peter followed him down the rabbithole with remarkable prowess. Eddie nodded, still trailing off:

“They - might have used it to...puppeteer people in the past. It’s how we have the Black Sky. It’s - but…” Nervously, Eddie looked up at Peter as the other man found another smile to wear, brow furrowing - encouraging Eddie to keep talking by rubbing his shoulder, squeezing a little. The enforcer swallowed; hollow, and felt everything burn behind his eyes.

“But Peter - the Substance only works if you...die first. And then…what if he...didn’t come back, and that’s how it goes, and there’s nothing left of him? There ain’t--” Eddie quickly cupped a hand to his mouth as if mortified by the slip in enunciation; in linguistics. Peter stayed, unmoved, other than to continue rubbing Eddie’s arm. “...there  _ isn’t, _ ” he murmured, forcibly, “a chance his...his soul, it -”

“Hey,” Peter cautioned him away from that line of thought quietly, “we don’t know until we try. So--” Somewhere, something beeped, dinged, and whistled. Peter paused, lolling his head back, then carefully released Eddie before rolling to his feet. “That’s the sign we were waiting for. You’re good to go - should be healed up and full of nutrients, now.” The Venomous aspects of his body had settled, and, indeed, he felt more whole again than he thought possible.

Patting his middle, Eddie sat up gingerly, looking at Peter. There was something in his face the enforcer didn’t understand - a pain around or behind the eyes, hazel-bright as they were. They watched him, and, for a moment, all was quiet.

“Okay - you’re kinda freaking me out with the staring, Eddie.”

“Sorry--” Eddie covered his eyes with a hand out of reflex and Peter was left openmouthed in bemusement - before peeling his fingers away from his face.

“You’re  _ adorable, _ ” Peter gushed softly, “but we need to get going. Do we have any allies that can help us in dealing with this crisis? I’ve got my men, you’ve got me - and you may only end up  _ needing me, _ but...having people who can hit the streets and know how to get Matty alone would be a critical part of this complete breakfast.” Eddie blinked at him. “It’s a joke, Eddie, please laugh.”

“Ha, ha,” he said automatically - and the two exchanged knowing, more genuine smiles before Peter took him by both hands and hauled him to his feet off the bed.

“I might be able to call in a few favors,” Eddie murmured - and Peter grinned from ear to ear.

_ Now  _ a plan was truly coming together.

Variables and constants and a poker table full of wildcards.


	18. Hold onto what you love...[both hands]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A DRAMATIC CLIMAX FOR DRAMATIC PEOPLE.  
> it's these boys, they're the dramatic people. thanks for your time.  
> Song is "Mr. Impossible" by Phantogram.

###  “Remind me again how it is you’re able to park it like that?”

Peter glanced between the skeptical, half-covered face of Karen Page; Punisher, Detective Castle, Drax the Destroyer [ _ “that’s his real name?” _ “yes, detective”] and Eddie. Foggy had been  _ cordially advised  _ to stay the  _ fuck  _ home - and for once, he’d chosen to listen. The man was nearly as stubborn as his partner, but Eddie could be persuasive. The gentle sleeper hold didn’t hurt, either, but that was neither here nor there.

“It’s a simple matter of subatomic interdimensional adjustment on corporeal frequencies,” Peter explained politely. The blank faces he got drove a sigh out of his body. “Right - never mind. C-53 is still... _ like that,  _ so it’s just as well.”

“This dude keeps talkin’ like that, I’m gonna knock him out,” Castle commented - as everyone around the drunk bastard motioned, jeered, and shooed, all save Eddie, who simply granted the other man a tired look. 

“Try it,” Drax growled, one hand reaching for the hilt of a blade, “and it’ll be the last thing you ever try.” 

“Easy,” Peter chimed in, cheerful-casual. Forcibly so. “Eaaasy fellas. Now, let’s stay on-mission here. Get in, get out, go nuts later. Make out if you want to? What--” Peter lifted his hands as Frank and Drax both looked his way. “What? You never know. But let’s focus on the task at hand, shall we?”

Eddie sighed deeply, one hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his crooked nose.

It’d been hard enough to get all of them under one roof. Cindy had declined outright, and she was...the one person Eddie wasn’t exactly keen on convincing otherwise. Dangerous in her own right, after all. Elektra had long since vanished from the picture - she’d been on the periphery for a while, an assassin with very specific targets to hunt. Felicia - forget it. Not her scene.

Page had been, arguably, the hardest to wrangle, but Eddie found her and...persuaded her as best he could that  _ wasn’t  _ Matthew was much worse - their little game could find a resolution someday. But - as of now, someone else had enacted Karen’s revenge, resulting in her missing out. “If you want the opportunity,” Eddie had told her, “you have to be willing to rebuild him to get it. And the Hand, operating without its Kingpin, is not good news for anyone in this city. I can assure you of that.”

“If the Hand has a puppet,” Karen had shot back idly, “I kill the puppeteer, I burn Pinocchio. Why bother trying to save him at all?” Above her eyeblack and her mask, Karen stared Eddie down. “You know you don’t mean as much to him as he does to you, right? That  _ thing’s  _ incapable of love.”

At that point, admittedly, in the Bar With No Name, Eddie’d lost his temper and shown what a  _ thing  _ he himself could be - but once the writhing, toothy darkness had settled back under his skin, Karen [now ashen, frozen to her seat] had lifted her hands in silent surrender.

“...Fine. Okay, just - tell me where and tell me  _ when. _ ”

Peter had brought along a few people of his own - Drax, his right-hand man, enormous and bristling with weapons, along with a green-skinned woman who seemed entirely unamused to be here - she didn’t give a name, and Peter seemed disinclined to share it. Which made planning difficult, but still. 

They lacked the Black Sky, which was somewhat of a setback - but this deep into the Hand’s territory, it’d been a pipe dream at best.

“Everyone remembers what to do?” Eddie found all the eyes on him at once, and, inhaling slowly, shook his head. “Look - you all have reasons for being here.”

“Blackmail.”

“Nowhere better to be.”

“Money, mostly,” the emerald woman chimed in. Eddie set his teeth and ground them, little needle points prickling with annoyance before he sucked his bottom lip beneath them, brows rising.

“Without Matthew at the helm of this city, chaos reigns. We need coordination in this chaos. We need order. We need someone who understands how to run it - and run it  _ well. _ ” Eddie swallowed, and, shrugging uncomfortably under so many watchful pairs of eyes, dropped his own gaze to the floor as he adjusted a sleeve; curling the cuff just so. Class ring and wedding ring winked knowingly as he did so. Onyx and ruby cufflinks glistened. He was adorned for war.

They all were.

Karen hefted her hunting rifle over one shoulder, tapped the grenades at her belt, and nodded to herself. She was quick, efficient, lethal, and  _ mean,  _ and Eddie caught her eye out of the corner of his, adding for her specifically: “remember our agreement.” Her jaw tensed beneath her half-mask, but Karen nodded grudgingly. 

“And you’ll get me my numbers?” Castle muttered out of the side of his mouth. Eddie smiled wryly.

“Detective, if there are criminals worth taking to make examples of  _ left  _ after tonight _ ,  _ I would be very surprised. But one way or another, the trash is taken  _ out. _ ” Silent stares circled back and forth, and Eddie pressed his lips together.

“Funds have already been distributed to your accounts. If you try to run, if you deviate from the plan, I will kill you myself. And no one will ever hear nor see anything from you ever again.” Black eyes narrowed. “ **_We’ll make sure of it._ ** ” Humanity snapped back into place and tired cobalts flickered. 

“Move out.”

Behind him, the captain of the ship nestled so strangely between the buildings wove an admiring glance over Eddie. He hadn’t heard him give a lot of orders - the man preferred to work silently and in private most of the time, ever the quieter shadow to Matthew’s bawdy displays of showmanship and tangible  _ wrath,  _ but - 

“Got the job done,” Peter said brightly, patting Eddie’s shoulder before reaching around him. “Now, let’s really give’m something to scream about, monster-boy.”

Peter’s pinkie flipped a switch and music began to purr to life, blaring around the ship as lights blinked and whirled, a rave offset by onyx and obsidian. Eddie watched, wide-eyed, as streaks of color and white shot through the dense, misty evening that swirled all around them - tendrils of cloud conquering concrete. The asphalt jungle, perspiring beneath the vague half-gauzed eye of the moon, positively glowed. 

[ _ If I told you, you’d think I was crazy, yeah _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gg9eOAEvYRM)

“Peter,” Eddie inquired softly, a wary tingle rushing up the back of his neck, “what’re you doing, exactly?”

Peter, startled by the use of name over title [as he always seemed to be, where Eddie was concerned --  _ good  _ \-- glanced back at him over his shoulder as he began to saunter down off the ramp of his ship and into the alleyway.

“Improvising. Distraction, remember?” Peter grinned, and, twirling on his heel, slid down the damp walkway with a smooth  _ swoosh  _ of motion, hands splayed and twinkling in the air. Eddie watched, too spellbound to do anything else, the words ‘ _ not like this _ ’ dying on his lips as the display began to unfold.

_ I'm the sun and the moon and the stars… _

He pivoted again, and, with a flourish as the streets began to flood with opening doors and shuffling figures; the horde of ant-like zombies struggling to fill the space, Peter Quill lifted clear off the ground. 

_ I'm the earth, I'm the water you walk on, yeah... _

Peter  _ ignited  _ from within. That was the closest Eddie came to describing it to himself. The cold, wet night  _ lit  _ from the inside as power  _ flowed  _ through his body. Leaping through his veins, traveling like iridescent white-teal  _ lightning,  _ he burst with color, till his fists were full of it, till he was all but fissuring all over - his teeth gleaming in a wicked, ferocious smile that was about as human as any of them truly were anymore…

_ I'm the sun and the moon and the stars... _

Eyes too hot and bright to behold; the pinprick pupils  _ blazing,  _ peered out over the middle distance with unbridled ferocity. Energy spiked and lanced off of him in arachnid arches, propelling him higher off the ground. He’d begun to levitate, after all - almost immediately upon the initial spark of light. Gravity itself held no sway over him. Peter Quill, Emperor of Spartax,  _ was  _ his own center of gravity.

Mesmerized for maybe a beat too long, Eddie stood stock-still - Karen and Castle flowed around him, guns cocked, back to back with one another, and others - Peter’s men - followed suit. The Emperor flanked by his shadowy quartet - Destroyer, detective, Punisher, and assassin. All around them, continuous, unending, flashed the blue-white lightning - storm with a specific source, still full of endless potential and possibility.

Peter unraveled men with a wink of his eye and a click of his tongue, figures dropping to piles of cinders on the ground. Eddie finally remembered to move as the music continued, blaring through the eerily dark street. 

Eddie slipped into the shadows like they were his second home, and, through them, he rummaged around for the hooks he’d found before to get himself where he needed to be - stirrups for the journey, throwing him headlong into the saddle again. The disorienting swirls of icy-cold shade notwithstanding, it was a slippery, unsettling experience every time. And this time, he couldn’t look for the source of heat he knew to read as Matthew, no - 

He searched instead for the scent of the katana, the blade’s metal an unnatural blend, just off enough to follow, until - 

“ _ Matthew _ .”  _ My love  _ stuck silently in the back of his throat like a razorblade; the apple-sweet victory short-lived.

Eddie manifested in the heart of - somewhere, he wasn’t sure where. Office building, lots of glass windows. Matthew, standing in the room, transfixed on something Eddie didn’t understand. Somewhere far away, down below, muffled music still blasted through the city. Like the world’s biggest nightclub, the party continued on. People were dying. Again. As for Eddie and Matthew, well - they were high up, that much Eddie knew for certain - and that was all he could piece together before suddenly, the Kingpin was upon him, katana in one hand, glowing saber in the other.

“What did we tell you but to  _ stay away _ ?”  _ We. _ The Hand. Whoever dared to pull his strings spoke through him. Eddie swiveled back sharply to avoid the singing ring of the buzzing space-weapon - blocking the katana with a ripple of darkness that formed a shield. The sword whipped back and sliced, practiced cuts, matched by practiced footwork, matched by - 

Hate on his face. Eddie’s heart sank. Somehow, he’d hoped that - 

“Matthew, please -” Eddie flinched and brought the barrier up between them, larger this time - then dropped to a knee with a brief yelp of pain as the fiery energy caught the symbiote’s not-skin this time, the slick surface blistering. Eddie clenched his jaw and rocked back upright, then dropped his hand to the side. The shadows pooled, lengthening, sharpening. A trick he remembered from the days of Riot; a natural master of weapons. He was no match for Matthew if the Kingpin actually wanted to kill him, but - 

He could see, somehow, on Matt’s face, the lines of tears and sleeplessness, and God, what had they been feeding him? He looked small, malnourished, and restless besides the distortion of anger he wore. This wasn’t him - 

But it  _ was.  _

And that was enough for Eddie to block the next blow. And the next, and the next, for minutes on end - precious time - though the katana nicked his face and gashed at his leg, Venom had him, and Matthew was - 

Backing him up against the glass window, so, so high up. The skyscraper’s cold glass waited, and Eddie, cornered with nowhere else to go, realized his mistake a moment too late. He had to stall. If Peter didn’t get up here in time - 

**_BOOM._ **

Off its hinges flew the door, exit stage somewhere-else. Beyond it, Peter sauntered in, flicking away remnants of his own energy that fizzled and whistled on the air. Matthew, the blades crossed and pressed under Eddie’s chin like a pair of unholy scissors, glared over his shoulder at Peter.

“This doesn’t  _ concern you,  _ pretty boy.”

“...How would you know that I’m--doesn’t matter,” Peter lifted his hands, shrugging with his face. “We just think you’ve gotten a little off your game lately, Matthew.” 

“And we think your games are unwelcome altogether, your eminence,” a soft, feminine voice whispered from behind Peter. “Matthew, release the help.” Matt dropped back and Eddie sagged, burnt skin and shallow cuts already beginning to cauterize and heal over.  _ Naught more than hickeys _ came to mind, and Eddie felt nausea follow the unhelpful thought. 

The  _ help  _ hit harder than that, however, and resonated. Matthew turned, swords in hand, and began to march toward Peter and Madame Gao. Eddie lunged, instinctive, and sharp - to wrench Matthew back by the ankle, unprompted, a tendril of shade snatching him and spiriting him away.

“You --” Matt’s voice, then - 

“Dare?” Gao finished - and swatted at Peter, sword unsheathed from her cane. 

That was her first and only mistake. Or - it was a test, to see what it was Peter could do - 

Which was light up again, the charge much more focused this time, a deep, pulsating arc of light that surged through his arm, boiled down to a focal point of magnesium-bright fist, an  _ iron fist,  _ more or less, Eddie realized - and Gao realized, too, a moment too late - 

Before Peter  _ punched,  _ not the woman, but the air beside her head.

Every window in the shiny black skyscraper  _ shattered  _ at once, the skeletal remains of architectural infrastructure naked to the howling air. Gao plunged to the floor, blown back and away toward the ledge with a cry. Eddie let Venom lock his feet to the ground, still grappling with Matthew, who hacked haphazardly at Venom’s snaking tendrils, trying to wrest himself free of the gunk.

“Release us,” Matthew warned, teeth bared, “or suffer the consequences.” Gao clawed her way across the floor, moving toward the door, but Peter let the light travel through his body - boots barely disturbing the floor as he walked; effervescent and untouchable, through the infernal cyclone.

“My men are waiting for me down below. I have ten cannons pointed at this entire  _ planet,  _ and do you honestly  _ think  _ whatever  _ witchcraft  _ you pit against me will have any of its intended effect?” Peter dropped to a little crouch, his hands charged with blue-white light, pointy eyeteeth on display. Gao stared up at him, weathered face hateful - but oddly admiring. Calculating. No, Eddie realized - 

_ Recalculating. _

“Peter,” he warned - but with a lift of her hand and a  _ push  _ between them, Gao shoved herself back and away from Peter across the smooth floor - and, rising briefly, hung suspended in the air - 

Before vanishing in a swift swirl of shadow that made Eddie’s stomach  _ plunge  _ just about as far down as the skyscraper they stood in would allow. Like an elevator with the wires and tethers cut. 

She moved like a  _ symbiote. _

In the shock of the moment, his grip unfortunately loosened - and Matthew slammed an elbow into his face; driving Eddie back and away with a roll of a shoulder, disgruntled. Eddie, losing his balance, unstuck from the floor and staggered toward the billowing breezes at the edge of oblivion. His arms pinwheeling, he lashed out with another rope of exhausted Venom and - 

Found himself shoved to the floor, Matthew somehow unbothered by the prevailing winds that slid around him; oily, serpentine. The glowing blade had been cast aside for the time being, buzzing plainly somewhere in the near-distance. Peter shouted something and rushed back from where he’d lunged to look after where he thought Gao might’ve run off to. Eddie’s eyes rounded as Matthew’s hand lifted, the katana clasped prayerfully.  _ Both hands. _

_ Hold onto what you love. _

_ Both hands. _

_ Don’t let go, and, as always -  _

**_“Forget me not!”_ **

Eddie’s cry ripped out of him, years upon years of soft-spoken words, if any, all built up for this moment. This one shout, this one final throw. A Hail Mary pass. This was the end, and all around them, the night that awaited.

The katana’s blade stopped mere centimeters from his left eye.

Breathing heavily, kneeling on his chest, Matthew, froth between his teeth, spittle flying, blood-spattered, stared him down. Confusion clouded him, coerced him to halting. Eyes riveted on what he hoped was still the face of the man he’d loved longer than he’d ever truly  _ lived,  _ Eddie exhaled:

“Peter.  **_Now_ ** _. _ ”

Matthew tensed again, but it was too late - Peter turned and powered up; all that glorious diamond-bright shimmering power pooling into his palms, pushing forward - till the waves of light splashed over Matthew’s back, encased him, surrounded him,  _ lifted him,  _ just enough for him to be filled in every conceivable way by it. The riptide ran him through, and for a moment, all Eddie could see was Matthew’s face  _ twisted  _ in horrible agony - 

The building was falling. It was creaking; groaning with protest, and Peter lifted one hand away to shield them all, a bauble of vibrant, neon aquamarine arcing across the middle distance in a dome across them. That lightning flowed; making Matt’s scars dance to more prominent life. New scars, _ old scars,  _ something old, something new, something  _ stolen  _ \- 

Blue.

Nothing but blue upon silver upon blue upon lavender and lilac and neon and dark and blood and ash and steel and screaming.

Oblivion caught up with Eddie as the energy; too high-pitched and too rapid a frequency to contend with, drove Venom and he both into a darker place. A silent place.

One in the depths of which Eddie swore he caught a frightened sound, almost a name:

“ _ Eddie?” _

And like he’d heard the sweetest of symphonies, Eddie Brock let what must’ve surely been the end claim him with a smile on his face.


	19. [for as long as they lived, they would love...]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are winding down for Book I...but we are far from over, and so are these three.

###  Cool air caressed his face, the broad brushstroke of fingers soothing away hurt. 

Murmuring voices spilled across his psyche as Eddie stirred on the bed, soft and warm in a place he knew well. The sheets had been changed, though not by him — he could tell from the way they hung looser on the bed than usual, hospital corners abandoned in favor of something more casual. The slider to the balcony was open close by, letting in a flickering sigh of a breeze. Downstairs, tinkling metal and porcelain, followed by cursing. 

“You  _ idiot _ — that was from the Ming Dynasty!”

“And? I don’t give a  _ krutacking _ flark where it’s from.”

“When.  _ When  _ it’s from.”

“You shouldn’t even be out of bed,” footsteps, accusations.  _ Peter _ . 

Details fell back into place as Eddie slowly rolled over. The pillow beside him was dented, still warm - the scents there familiar. Filled with longing, Eddie pressed his face into the soft down and let the smell of his love consume him. It covered him like a blanket; secure and sure, and for a moment, he was certain he’d woken on a Sunday morning with nothing on the agenda, but - 

“Who’s going to stop me?” Tinkling china, silver. “You? I think the fuck not,  _ Peter. _ ” Footsteps coming up the stairs to the lofted bedroom. Eddie, still half-asleep, could only react sluggishly - 

Before Matthew dropped dramatically into the bed beside him, tray of food [over-salted eggs; he could tell, and half-burnt sausages, griddled toast too thickly-buttered] and coffee shunted to the side-table, one hand sweeping through his hair. 

“Peter says we’re to stay on bedrest, an order I for one think is ridiculous. There’s far too much work to be done, clearly…” Matthew; talking. Chattering away as if nothing had happened, that he was...fine. Smelled like himself again, acted like himself again.Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie could see him - the coppery locks, the lopsided smile, the bare face and all its freckles…

All in greater, yet softer detail as Matthew,  _ his Matthew, _ leaned in closer, lips nearly brushing Eddie’s ear, voice syrupy-sweet: “are you finally awake,  _ my love _ ?”

Eddie shot back in the bed, away - away from the brief chill that rushed through him that  _ shrieked  _ of danger. The warmth and coziness of the bed all but evaporated beneath him as, confused, Matthew moved to the edge of the bed instead, head cocked to one side. “Edward?”

Eddie tried to think of something to say - for a moment, all he could see was Matthew’s bared teeth as the katana plunged down toward his eye - or feel; phantom and echoing in his chest, the clamorous  _ pain  _ of that same blade slicing him open like...cake. Like a fillet. His hand scrambled for his chest, subconsciously, and Matt went very still.

“...Eddie, what is it? I’ve - brought you breakfast.” Matthew’s voice, hesitant but entirely his, pressed on with only a brush of annoyance punctuated by the hand that fluttered through the air. “Stop - stop flailing around, I feel like we haven’t spoken in so long, we should...Peter tells me I’ve been - ill, is how he put it, not myself, and I feel as though I’ve awoken from such a strange--” 

Eddie’s bare feet hit the floor as he rose upright, pale as could be, stricken and shaking. Matthew, hit by the waves of cortisol and the sudden bursts of flop-sweat, kept himself perfectly motionless. His hands curled a little in his lap after a moment, and, nervous, oddly meek for him, the Kingpin murmured, “...dream…”

“I should...see to affairs. Like you said, sir--” Matthew’s nose crinkled at that, confusion mounting. “Lots of work to be done. I’ve slept too long.” Eddie’s voice, automated, poured out through the room like rumbling freight cars. Steady and predictable as the same main line the coal-bringers ran, back and forth across a vast expanse of land untamed. The one steadfast thing; the guarantee of fuel. He’d always provide.

Except when Matt needed his touch, his closeness, Eddie slipped away like smoke, rather than another lump of coal for the furnace. Reliability ran out between Matt’s fingers as he groped after him blankly. 

“Eddie -” Peter tried to gently block him at the door, but Eddie ghosted through him; shadow to shadow, sliding off down the stairs in soundless and swift departure. 

Peter and Matthew were left to examine one another; stupefied, in the silence that stayed behind. A haunting of what could’ve been a gentle morning - the mourning of what grief Eddie still had.

And grieve he did - or...he wasn’t entirely sure. 

He’d never been particularly in-touch with his emotions. Beyond the burning, all-encompassing feeling of loving Matthew, there was a bit of a void that stretched between Eddie and all that he knew must hurt him; somewhere. He could hear echoes of it sometimes, if he was overtired or not focused enough on work - the cries of a child silenced by a hand or a door closing. He kept himself apart from that for so long he wasn’t sure how to get back.

But now, he was afraid. Afraid of his own love, afraid of the man he abandoned to the bed upstairs, ashamed to look either of them in the eye. Peter had saved Matthew effortlessly, and it was more than apparent neither of them needed him.

So the grain of truth was in the words Matthew used to gut him before the sword. It rubbed at all the sensitive places inside of him; coarse and demanding, reducing him to a twisted mass of nerves and doubts. 

Sadness swallowed him. Eddie opened the office door, stepped inside, and for days, he did not come out.

Matthew, meanwhile, had used up all his strength on the delivery of breakfast and the offers of love.

He’d been so looking forward to simply curling up in Eddie’s arms and letting his scent; his cool presence, drive the world away. He could vanish into the living night that was his lover, his  _ husband,  _ desperate for the tactile feeling that would drown out the overwhelming sensory overload that was even his quiet apartment. He was - 

“Readjusting,” Peter informed him softly. His hands found Matt’s face and his lips pressed to his brow as he filled in the blanks left behind by the man downstairs. “You’re just readjusting, baby. You’re okay.” Warmth and wet filled his eyes as Matthew blinked rapidly; trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. He felt...small.

He felt  _ frightened.  _

And he  _ didn’t like it. _

“What happened to me?” Matthew asked, his voice wan. “Why isn’t - why did he leave? He never leaves me...he  _ never  _ leaves me!” Matt tried to sit up out of Peter’s grasp, but dizziness struck, a black and howling vertigo, and he sank back against him with a shudder, tingling at the tips of his fingers and soles of his feet.

“...Had to heal you up from a bad stint,” Peter said, which was more or less the truth. “You uh - you weren’t really...well. It’s all the stuff I said before, okay? You’ve been sick, Matty, but you’re getting better. Okay? Eddie…” Peter hesitated, then shrugged a hand before it dropped back to rub Matt’s bicep; soothingly tucking him against his side as he scooted up against the headboard. “He’s just...he’s probably worried about your recovery. That’s all. You know how he...loves his work.” It hurt to force the words out.

But Peter did so anyway, for Matt.

Calmed a little by that, Matthew settled back and hid his face in Peter’s neck. The swirls of leather, sweat, and things he’d never known all clustered together to dull his pains. Eddie would come back to him - he always did. By nightfall, they’d be together again, he was sure of it.

When evening came, however, it was Peter who slipped back into bed with Matthew after a brief run for food, bringing him some sort of dish - he couldn’t even tell what it was. The food meant nothing to him. The anxiety that came from the gap where Eddie ought to have been devoured everything else. Appetite and otherwise. All he could do was think of the man still scratching away at something in the office. Signing, documenting, typing, speaking in a low voice on the phone about affairs of...one nature or another. 

The Hand was - something about them had - 

Peter kissed his face, distractingly so, and Matthew couldn’t focus in enough to catch the rest of the words. “You gotta rest,” Peter insisted, gentle and sincere. The tongue he slipped into Matthew’s mouth to chase the bites of soy and spice spoke otherwise, though. Matthew inhaled sharply at the touch, one hand lifting to push Peter back. The emperor obeyed, though his heart skipped a beat under Matt’s fingers.

“...I need to - get cleaned up,” Matthew said faintly. “Just - water...and perhaps more rest, you’re right. Don’t -” He insisted, waving Peter off, “I will get it myself.” The words  _ I don’t need you  _ were in his mouth, and for some reason, he knew they weren’t true. Something he’d said in a nightmare, maybe. Some horrible, waking dream…

Clutching the banister, Matthew made his way downstairs, and the scent of cortisol filling the space made for the dark a salty little sea. Eddie was in the kitchen, just finishing up another call, and Matthew brightened a little, leaning on the wall. 

“Burning the midnight oil, my love?” Now, surely, everything would be fine. Though...Eddie had never forgotten or neglected to feed him before. Peter had brought him the takeout, but...something still felt so wrong. So...out of the ordinary, out of place. Eddie, motionless by the stove where he was brewing hot water, didn’t answer. He was never so quiet, Matthew could always coax the words out of him, but - 

“You should not be out of bed.” The tone he received was flat and low. There wasn’t a lick of warmth to be found within it. “His eminence advised you as such.” Scoffing after a beat of disbelieving soundlessness, Matthew retorted:

“He doesn’t tell me what to do. And neither do you, for that matter. Edward, you’ve -” He heard the stove click off. The water hadn’t even had a chance to boil in the kettle. His stomach flipped; uneasy. “You’ve been off, all day, and - and I want to know why. Why are you acting like this? What’s  _ wrong? _ Why won’t you come to me…?” He moved toward him and, again, as he had that morning, Eddie recoiled. But, determined to show him nothing was amiss, Matthew reached for him again - this time catching his face in the fuzzy abyss. The lights must’ve been off, because the kitchen, save for the typical appliances, was soft around them in terms of sound. Eddie’s face beneath his fingers was oily - no,  _ damp  _ \- and Matthew froze.

He’d been  _ crying _ .

Eddie, however, did anything but freeze. Beneath Matthew’s fingers, the other man  _ flinched,  _ **hard** , so hard in fact that his elbows jerked and his back struck the counter. Matthew blinked, something tightening around his collarbones like a vice. 

Eddie had never moved back from him like that before. Like Matthew’d  _ hurt  _ him. No - all those pains...negotiated. Consensual. Agreed upon. And cared for, after, that was their way. And this, his gentlest and most open of gestures, lovingly holding Eddie’s face in the shadows, was met with nothing short of  _ terror. _

“...Eddie,” Matthew hardly recognized his own voice as his face crumbled with uncertainty, “darling, what--” his wrists were seized - very carefully - and his fingers drawn away. With effortless motion, Eddie separated himself from Matthew, not sure of what to say.

Did he tell him? Did he watch him fall apart? No - better to drive him up to the stars waiting patiently for him in the bedroom, better to return to his own darkness. Someone had to clean up the mess, and someone had to run the business, and someone had to be the rock. He couldn’t crack now. He had to show Matthew all was well and keep his distance, lest...his presence trigger him into returning to the way that he was.

If it even worked like that.

Eddie didn’t know.

All he knew was that, over and over, he kept experiencing the same stinging agony. Like trying to escape a field of electricity. Current and static shocks.

“Please,” Matthew said softly. His fingers hovered in the air. “Please, Eddie?”  _ Talk to me, _ the tone cried out; begging.  _ Come to  _ **_bed_ ** _. _

_ Don’t leave me. _

Eddie couldn’t think of anything to say back.

So he turned and walked out of the kitchen, out of the house, and into the freezing night.

And so it went, for days.

Matthew, devastated - crushed, confused - returned to the bedroom where Peter waited for him. The next morning, there was breakfast waiting for them both in the kitchen, and Eddie far away in the office. Matthew had immediately tried to rush in to see him, but Peter stopped him - worried about the way Matthew had curled into a ball at his side the night prior, despair eating away at him.

Eddie had black coffee and toast. For Peter and Matthew, he left a full Irish breakfast, freshly-sliced starfruit and dragonfruit, and thick maple-y oatmeal. Not to mention the coffee and the mocha waiting for each of them respectively. This much he could do. He could still care. At a distance.  _ The help. _

He wore the same suit as he had yesterday. He slept in the office, when he had to - handfuls of sleep scattered here or there. His beard, unattended, started to fill in - his eyes, restless, looked only at the pages on the desks, clothes rumpled. 

It was another two days of this, with Matthew in near-tears, quiet and frustrated, too weak still to do much other than go up and down the stairs, that Peter decided he needed to do...something.

This was where plans fell short or to the wayside entirely, however - deflections always fell short where Matt was concerned. The human lie detector wasn’t buying “don’t worry about it, baby, he’s just — he’s busy. He’ll be fine”, instead needling Peter whenever he worked up the strength to do so, poking and prodding for the  _ truth. _

Eddie, meanwhile, had become a veritable fortress of solitude, shifting into stark professionalism against the obvious way he’d stopped taking care of himself properly. He knelt when he saw Peter approaching, kissed his hand, and listened to him - but the answers given were always “of course, your eminence” and “certainly, your majesty”. It was nothing even close to human. Flarking Hell, what Peter wouldn’t have given to see the judgmental lift of an eyebrow again, or the cunning near-smile that curled at the corner of Eddie’s mouth upon occasion. 

They were both unreachable in their own right. Even kissing Matthew’s neck, his shoulders, his chin, sliding a hand down his front to draw him to hardness; to heat, to something comforting and grounding - proved  _ useless.  _ Peter felt so fucking  _ useless  _ when Matthew, mid-kiss, strewn in the sheets with him, gave up and turned away. “I can’t - I can’t do this, Peter, not - not with him being so distant, I don’t…” 

Peter had watched his freckled back as Matthew balled up beside him on the bed, and felt the jealous spike of frustration pierce his heart again. 

“I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. I can’t - remember.” And just as quickly, the envious agony passed. Inhaling slowly, Peter slipped closer to Matthew, his arm drifting across the other man to pull him closer again. Brokenly, the Kingpin sniffed, trying in vain to hoist back his emotions; to haul them and bring them to heel. 

“...I’ll tell you,” Peter said finally; sadly. Couldn’t save Matthew from this; he supposed - couldn’t convince him all was well, and that things would be alright. Not without trying to unravel these threads and snares. Drawing Matthew into his arms, Peter’s shoulder found the headboard again as he sat them both upright, his fingers dropping to entangle with a few of Matt’s own.

And he told him what he knew. What Eddie had informed him of. The strangeness of that night when Matt first returned  _ wrong.  _ The cold shoulder, the irritation, the lapses in memory. The increase in bloodlust and violence. The Hand’s operations turning the city on its head. Mounds of bodies. Piles of flesh and blood; reanimated, where Peter had fished Eddie out of the water and flown off with him on high --

“Why was he in the water?” Matthew intercepted, sharp as the lawyer he always was, despite everything. Peter’s stomach flipped, a restless flapjack motion, and he waffled on whether or not he should answer; so suddenly on the stand, but - 

“...um. You...told your men to put him there.” Matthew’s face closed, considering. “After...whoever was...running the show - had you stab him. Had you…” Peter’s voice ticked up an octave, wary. “Had youuu...kill him.” The stony expression fled; horror eminent. “But it  _ wasn’t  _ **_you_ ** ,” Peter instantly soothed, “it wasn’t you, and he’s not dead, he’s just - he knows that, okay? That it wasn’t you. And he loves you, and you love him, and…” 

_ I love you both.  _

Strange. It’d jumped to the surface. Avarice and envy, but - Peter couldn’t deny...that had to be why he was still here. After all, he hadn’t come to make nice or get...in bed, literally, with Matthew, just - take his resources, but - 

Okay so he’d been  _ bound  _ to get in bed with  _ Matthew _ , but still. 

He’d never expected to be fussed over by Eddie, his hands on his jacket, kissed tenderly backstage before being shown to the press to stand with Matthew - who snuck in a link of their fingers behind the podium. The arguments that dissolved to moans - usually his - when Matt got fired up, followed by giggling afterglow. He hadn’t expected the way Eddie danced with him, different than Matt, nor - any of it.

Peter didn’t expect to love again. Or for anyone to ever love him back. 

Not a love he didn’t first have to buy.

But God knew, he’d pay whatever price for love.

He jolted as something brushed an old injury. Matt’s hand found the ridged scar under his sleeve and Peter flinched a little, cruelly grounded back in reality.

“So you...saved him,” Matthew said, quietly; dissociative, fingers running back and forth. Processing, maybe. Considering. “And then I assume you saved me. How? The Forge?” Peter smiled bitterly. The scar on his arm smirked back at him with a knowing tilt to its odd, cracked edges. “Something else? Peter…” Matthew’s voice wavered. Peter felt something hitch in his chest. 

“Can you - can you fix...more?” Matt asked feebly. “What can you do, can…”  _ Can you make him love me again? Hold me again?  _ The words died on his lips as Matthew’s throat closed. Peter felt the acid burn in him for a million different reasons. Emotions warred. One won out over all, as it always did, strange though it was.

“...Sometimes, I can’t do much.” It hurt to admit. His chin propped itself atop Matt’s head as the Kingpin continued tracing his arm, following the lines of the fissure.  _ Fault lines. _ His breath quaked in his lungs as he drew in far too deep a breath - as if it was his first in  _ ages.  _ “But - I couldn’t let this happen, not to you two, I...haven’t used the Forge.”  _ Not as it once was _ . “Not for a long time. The last time I tried…” 

Rich’s face; the love of  _ his  _ life, blue-eyed and glassy on the floor. Surrounded; nay,  _ swimming  _ in his own blood. The piercing scream of loss unrivaled. His father’s impervious expression as his son squirmed and thrashed, trying to break free of the guards...the Forge shattering in his hands, filling him up, backfiring -

The brief glimpse of a ghostly smile, a hand reaching for him, before everything went white and cold. Deafening. 

Waking up emperor.

Waking up  _ alone _ .

“I didn’t... _ want _ to be an emperor,” he explained, unsure of how much he’d actually said aloud - about falling for his knight; his captain of the guard - of Rich’s eyes like cornflowers, like  _ forget-me-nots,  _ like the hottest stars in the galaxy. It only occurred to him then how alike he and Matthew truly were - falling for those who protected them, finding strength and balance and a willingness to forego all their power; their glory...for the men they loved.

“I just wanted  _ him _ .”  _ Like...the way I want you _ , he didn’t say. Couldn’t say. Wouldn’t be fair to say, not to Rich’s memory or Matthew’s reality or Eddie’s presence or - any of it. Peter told himself he was selfish. Selfish enough to destroy planets in the wake of his hatred. His guilt, his grief and his hollowness. A cold bed makes a man’s head go funny, makes the heart sore. Makes it all  _ ache _ . Peter, all about the tangibility, was left with nothing to hold onto. 

Nothing but memories.

Hazel eyes flickered Matt’s way, and the other man, so small and demure; strangely, during all of this - shifted closer, till they were all but one, entwined against the back of the bed. “And...I couldn’t let it happen again.” He hadn’t told Matthew the truth - the desire for the Substance, to do what he still could not. One last Hail Mary pass. Nor did he tell him how sickening and distorted it’d felt to cleanse him of the Substance and Gao’s hold on him - like washing mold and muck out of a gutter, something laborious and disgusting. Not that  _ he  _ was.

Just - what’d been done to him. To have his power taken. His love distorted...

“The Forge...didn’t work. Or - I didn’t know how to make it work, but...it doesn’t matter now. What matters is you’re safe. Eddie’s safe. He’ll come around. You have each other, and…” Peter trailed off. Matt’s fingers were dancing across his face, tracing the faint lines of scruff - unattended to, much like Eddie, these past few days. His thumb; lighter than down, drifted over Peter’s almost-ever-moving lips, stilling them now.

“You are so  _ driven  _ by love, aren’t you?” There was a fond, weary note in Matt’s voice that made Peter’s ears feel heated. His face flamed; crawling with unexpected blush, and stammered protests died on his lips as Matthew lowered a hand to draw Peter’s scarred flesh close to his mouth. Reverent, Matt pressed kiss after kiss along the surface of the marred skin, the thing not even the surgeons of Spartax could make beautiful again. Matt kissed that ugly place of loss and emptiness as if it was a fount of pure joy. Peter’s eyes watered - yet another unexpected thing.

The last time he’d cried had been - losing Rich.

Years, now. Years…

“Your heart,” Matthew murmured, still resting his mouth against Peter’s arm, “is your greatest power, my love.”  _ My love.  _ His chest did something funny, just then, and Peter felt the hot tears fall, racing away down his scruffy face. One hand furiously lifted to dash away the intrusive emotions. 

“... _ Not true _ ,” he wavered, aiming for firm and landing on pouty. Matt smiled in spite of himself, properly, for the first time in days, and pulled back from his arm with care, kissing his palm. 

“...I’m thirsty,” he said in lieu of _I love you._ _I need you,_ his voice said. “Can you please…?” Peter nodded, suddenly all-too-eager to move; relieved Matt asked for help, relieved to escape the tomb of memories both recent and past. It finally felt like the pain of everything had begun to soften. That they could heal and move on.

It was only when he got to the landing on the first floor that he realized just how much pain there truly was.

Eddie, a statue in the study, knelt before the moonlight spilling in through the back window. On his lap; the katana, unsheathed from where he’d found it in the corner. Just as he’d found Matthew weeks - what felt like  _ centuries, now  _ \- before - the same pose, with the blade balanced on his lap, bowed forward ever-so-slightly. He was like a detective reenacting the scene of a crime. A chain of events. Sorrow dripped off him like perspiration, a murky unrest.

He’d found it in the corner, tucked away, as if Matt had intended to hide it while his enforcer made good on his work of tidying the streets. The fucking clean-up crew. The  _ help… _

So he’d finished tidying up in the study. He’d tucked every book away, the spines neat as little soldiers on the shelves. He’d cleaned and tipped the scales of the Lady Justice figure back into place. And he’d processed. He’d processed as he’d unsheathed the blade; the very same that’d been buried in his chest, in his guts, and sat there in silence. Eddie sometimes stayed quiet till the words came, but…

Nothing was coming to him.

Nothing, except a very desperate man who  _ definitely  _ led with his heart. 

More than he probably ever wanted to. 

Peter swung in a complete 360 away from the kitchen and barreled toward the study at warp-speed. One quick burst of blue-white light sent the blade gyrating off to embed itself into the nearest wall. Before Eddie could even react, Peter was upon him - arms flung around him, clutching him close, the emperor dropping into a crouch to cling to him. Tightly. 

For a moment, only black spots swam before Eddie’s eyes, and the enforcer stammered incoherently. Peter was  _ crushing  _ him, clinging with all his might. They sat like that for a few seconds; absolutely without noise or interference, and Eddie felt the weight of everything sink onto his shoulders - 

Before he returned the hug hid hides his face in Peter's shoulder. Realizing...how things had seemed. 

Soft, so soft it was barely more than a thought, Eddie said, “...I...love you. I won't leave you. I'm sorry for scaring you. I was just lost in thought. But I'm back now.” It just felt...right to say. Natural. Like what he was supposed to say at times like these, wasn’t he? What had Matthew said to him? Why couldn’t he - 

Anxiety swelled. Especially when Peter pulled back to knock their foreheads together, shaking Eddie just a little. Trying to dislodge shadows of doubt.

“He  _ misses  _ you,” Peter whispered faintly, “he misses you so much, I know. Just...come to bed, baby.” Eddie, terrified, could only look at that earnest face, sleepless in its own ways, and try to think of a response. “Please.” 

Eddie felt the nerves spill as he gently tried to slip out of Peter's reach, averting his gaze, the whole nine yards - anything to avoid...all of it. Weakly muttered, the words came in protest: "No - no, I can't - do that. I shouldn't...what if it -" and then he had to try to swallow, and the words stuck fast in his throat. "...what if it - sets him off...again? What if - I'm not really...good for him? I don't..." and a weak laugh, followed by a shrug was granted under Peter’s warm hands. "I don't...know that I ever...have been, Pe--your eminence." No closeness. No nothing. He had to separate himself. 

From all of this, from them.

But he wanted to do as he was asked. More than anything he wanted to crawl out of his suit and actually  _ sleep  _ beside his boys. For the first time in what felt like an eternity forged by Hell itself. Suffering; punishment, rage, and sorrow. Peter sighed. What a long krutacking few days it’d been. But...

“If it sets him off, I’ll just hold him back, _Eddie_.” Peter replied, insistent with the not-so-subtle nudge _to use his name._ “And you have. You are. I know it, I’ve heard it, I’ve seen it — from the moment I set foot in your _wedding_ ,” and _god_ , that word was _bitter_ in his mouth, “for flark’s sake. You’ve spent a lifetime loving him, making sure he’s fed, taking care of him because god knows he can hardly take care of himself. I think you’re the best thing that can ever happen to him. I can’t even do — half the things you do.” 

After a beat to really let that sink in, he tugged on Eddie’s arm, as commanding as he’s ever been, but still gentle. “Now stop having a pity party and come upstairs. He needs you.”

Eddie, still unable to look at Peter, just gazed at the ground somewhere off to the left of him, and tried in vain to find an argument to make. And his eyes were swimming, and he was suddenly so very aware of how many days he's been awake, and how he'd just been running like a machine more than a man or even an alien, just.  _ Mechanical  _ and going through the motions. And the tug jostled him a little, and he looked up at Peter before softly asking the one thing he’d been most afraid to ask:

"And you? Do you need me too?"

Peter stopped and looked at Eddie for a long moment, then around, as if avoiding the truth. The office offered no answers, no outs. He had no extraction plan. Bound and determined, he’d hoped to weasel out of this one somehow. He and Eddie - two peas in a pod when it came to trying to maneuver themselves away for “the better man” - undeniably similar. But he also hated to admit it. To feel  _ weak  _ again. But, he forced himself to meet Eddie’s eyes again and: 

“Yeah.... Yeah, I do.”

The relief on Eddie’s face all of a sudden was so visible, so  _ earnest _ , and so human it almost knocked the breath clean out of the emperor’s lungs. He let Peter see it, too - because - he couldn’t help it. 

And without any other hesitation, Eddie simply lifted him gently into his arms and pulled Peter's legs around him, just peering up at him and holding him close before whispering, "then you have me as long as there are stars in your skies, Peter." 

And then, very softly: " _ Stardust _ ." Stardust was what he was, because he made everything shine in a new light. Corny as that was, but - Eddie would workshop it. Along with all the other little notes, and poems, and thoughts he had about the man who’d saved him. Who’d saved Matthew. Who’d saved them all, time and time again. And he was doing so now. 

All of this he exchanged for Peter’s interlude - to save him again, in his own way - with a kiss that lingered between them, heady, yet soft. And when they’d broken apart, Eddie kept Peter in his arms - carrying him upstairs so they could go face Matt together. 

No - see him.

Just  _ see him,  _ and perhaps be healed...by the power of love. By the power Peter wielded like any other element that came to him so,  _ so  _ easily...lightning and scorched earth and a million other things. Scarcely able to be believed, however, with the way he snuggled into Eddie’s arms and wound around him so completely.

They got upstairs and Peter broke the tension, head lolling to the side of Eddie’s shoulder, “h-hey, baby. I found a stray. He’s  _ really  _ strong.” Matt picked his head up in the bed, perked like a meerkat to try and clear the air. Holding his breath.  _ Waiting. _

Eddie blinked at the word stray - and again at the way Matt poked his head up - and found himself relaxing just a little more, leaning over to carefully set Peter in the bed beside Matt, settling on the very edge of the bed. 

"...I have all my shots," was all he could think of saying. There was a tense silence before Eddie buried his face in his hand; mortified, ears brightly red. 

Matt didn’t smile. Didn’t even react, really, until Eddie sat on the bed, and then he  _ scrabbled  _ out of the silken sheets to Eddie’s side, taking Eddie in his arms and burying his face in his shoulder to suppress all the emotion welling up on his face. 

Matthew clung. 

Matthew  _ cried _ . 

Eddie froze for a split second as his heart rate settled, then slowly curled an arm around Matt to keep him close and just --

Let him cling. 

Let him cry. 

His own eyes watering, Eddie for once didn’t wait for permission. He touched Peter's face as the other man slid back as if to leave, his other hand now wound around the back of Matt's head - before slipping that hand down to tug in toward both of them, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead. 

"I've got you," he informed them both, and his voice only shook a little. "I've  _ got  _ you, I've got you, forget-me-not and stardust." These were his reasons for living. Come back to him at last, safe in his bed, fully themselves, all of them - no weapons, no harsh words, just men. Just people. People who, despite everything, found love in a way that couldn’t otherwise be expressed - 

Save for this. A trio of scars - all given for power, for passion, but arguably, above all else...for love.

That was when Peter, too, allowed himself to be held; holding them in return. At last, for the first time, he thought to be a part of it - a genuine acceptance that he could...still love.

And be loved in return.

And that, above all else, they knew - 

for as long as they lived, they would  _ love. _

And that would heal their every hurt.


	20. EPILOGUE...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading if you made it this far - and stay tuned for the next book in the series! :>

###  Epilogue

When Peter Quill opened the door, he didn’t expect to be greeted by rippling aquamarine.

A blink, and it clicked - there was a light source making the walls shimmer as if he was submerged underwater. Music was playing over a tinny loudspeaker, the New York function hall recently renovated to be, if still humble, more up to the standards one might expect from the city’s most prestigious kingpin - 

Who had, for whatever reason, made this place his pet project for the past month or so while reorganizing his empire in the Empire State. 

Peter had been patiently waiting in the wings, giving input and being charming where commitment required, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of restlessness that came with the territory of being the  _ other. _

He wasn’t jealous by nature - or at least, he didn’t think he was - because he’d always been able to obtain anything he wanted. Including people. People were arguably the easiest to obtain, now that he stood where he did at the top of the veritable food chain. Up here, in the lion’s den, nobody could touch him. He was alpha, and he took what he wanted.

Until he came back to this backwater planet with its strange ideas about who had what kind of power. Where there was life beyond debauchery and treachery and treason. All of that still existed; persisting valiantly in Matthew and Eddie’s everyday work, but - 

There was  _ love,  _ too. 

Peter hadn’t forgotten about love. As he stepped into the room, he was sorely reminded of it. Reminded of the color of his knight’s eyes, of the way they’d lay back and watch the sky warp and shimmer at night under the protective atmosphere. On the warmer nights, the sky would light up just this way - and Rich would turn, cup Peter’s face in furtive measure, and kiss him. Slow and deep.

Always whenever they saw a shooting star, and so Peter prayed for meteors.

Wished, rather. He was not a man of prayer, not by a long shot. Though he’d learned that Matthew had his moments where he wrestled with faith. He could recite almost any passage from the Bible and twist it to his own purpose if he needed to in the court of law, but other than that, he no longer touched it. Nor was he a man who wished for anything, because he, too, could always have whatever he wanted.

They’d understood one another on that level pretty much immediately. And yet, despite the many, many ways they fell into line with one another, they fell short on a few aspects - neither wanted to show their whole hand, and that lack of full trust was yet another sticking point for Peter.

People  _ knew  _ he was ruthless. Even spinning a little; making himself dizzy, in the room of turquoise light, he was still an Emperor who in his rage destroyed a handful of planets “just because I was having a bad day”. He refused to acknowledge there was more to it than that, just as he refused to acknowledge there was anything more to his business than coming to this planet to wreak havoc and…

Fall in love again.

He was supposed to come here, obtain the Substance, repair the Forge, and move on. Move on by bringing Richie back, so they could rule the galaxy  _ together.  _ No barriers, no angry fathers, no obligations. So what if the empire crumbled after he was gone? Had a sister somewhere, didn’t he? Surely she could come back and handle it. Peter planned to change a bunch of laws and - he had so much time. He’d outlive so many who spoke out against him - namely because he had a thousand and one plans to deploy accordingly. Nothing would be left to chance.

Peter just really hadn’t accounted for Matthew Michael Murdock - or his loyal shadow, Edward Charles Allan Brock.

He should’ve left room in the plans for them. 

But maybe it wasn’t too late.

Streamers hung overhead, purples and blues and whites, all congregating around a disco ball that cast flecks of silver across the floor and his face in its rotation. Tables of food and a punchbowl sat nearby, and the music playing were - “oldies”, or something. The Beatles he recognized, albeit they’d done something to the tempo and the rhythm that gave him some pause. Not enough to be distracted by anything else just yet, though.

It was hard to stay lost in the thoughts of the past when the present was so...silly. Dazzling, but tacky, in a way that made his face glow, softening from its usual smirk of knowing. He didn’t know what this was, and he was excited - a party, he supposed, a few fingers tugging on a balloon patterned with fish that was drifting by - albeit nobody seemed to be here yet. 

“Hello, Peter,” Matt said by his elbow, and Peter nearly shot to the roof out of fear, cussing softly.

“Why don’t you wear a bell?” Matt grinned broadly up at him, adjusting the lapels of his fine, blood-red suit jacket, the black and silver shirt beneath it puffing with just a little brush of pride. Chin lifting and hair falling perfectly out of his face, the Kingpin shrugged, nose scrunching under its freckles.

“That would absolutely defeat the purpose of being, as they call me -” Fingers lifted to make air-quotes. “‘Spooky Kabuki’.” Scowling, Peter tipped back on his heels and found the solidity of Eddie behind him, though that made him freeze more than it did make him jump - at least for now. 

Hazel eyes swiveled around and met the sallow face that, usually so serious, awarded him the very smallest of smiles. Blinking owlishly, Peter looked between the two men, then casually slipped a hand back under his jacket, over his hip. Element guns still within reach. Very good news, that. And of course he had powers at his fingertips, so he hardly needed to worry about being quicker on the draw when he could just - 

“We aren’t here to hurt you,” Matt said, cutting himself short of saying the lingering  _ idiot  _ that tasted  _ bitter  _ at the back of his mouth. Peter’s fingers twitched, then slowly tucked the jacket back over his weapons, the emperor clearing his throat.

“Ah - I know...that...obviously…”

“We thought this might be a nice reprieve from the way things have been recently,” Eddie offered, low voice as level as ever it was. One hand took Peter’s own, and Eddie dipped low to kiss his knuckles, his suit of a blue so deep it was practically woven from the night catching the light all around them. Peter, still flummoxed, glanced between the two men again - then found himself being led to Matt more directly, Eddie drawing Matt in likewise, the other man placing a hand on Peter’s waist, accepting the first from Eddie’s own. 

The enforcer did what he did best, then, and slipped into the shadows, presumably to attend to other business - and Peter was left, bewildered, hand-in-hand with Matt.

“...What’s...going on?” 

“It’s a dance, Peter,” Matt breezed, hearing the telling shift of music as Eddie tapped away at the laptop nearby, “you like dancing, don’t you? Our way of saying thank you…” The old pop number bounced to life, the Shirelles asking their age-old question. Matt’s footsteps were lively, but leisurely - he moved with a grace that few others had, a round sweep and perfect posture. Peter felt himself straighten upright in response; carrying himself with his usual level of regality - with some difficulty, mind. Namely…

Namely he wanted to lean in and to kiss the smile off Matt’s face, to surround himself in the warmth of his embrace, and ask him,  _ really  _ ask him, what it really was all about.

“Eddie informs me you most likely missed your prom,” Matt remarked.  _ Tonight you’re mine, completely… _ the music sang, and Peter’s gaze ticked Eddie’s way before returning to the man he was dancing with, swirling away on the dancefloor as if it was a ballroom, and...he was the handsome prince after all. Being charmed by a roguishly - nay,  _ devilishly  _ \- handsome suitor, whose smile was sharp, but fond. “We thought to remedy that. Or rather - he did. I think it’s a little ridiculous, personally, but I never say no to a--” Matt dipped peter back and the emperor proceeded to make very un-emperor-like noises before he was righted; face flushed, eyes wide again.

“Party,” Matt purred. Peter laughed, short and startled; but the mirth stayed on his face as they continued to spin. “I’ve been informed he’s reenacted the Under the Sea decorations--”

“Under the Sea?” Peter asked, bemused. "You guys know this is an 80's movie reference, right? Back to the Future?" 

"Yes," Matthew said patiently, "I suggested it. I knew those Catholic squares wouldn't get the joke, so..." Peter stared at him, transfixed.

"Flarking hell. Just when I thought I couldn't love you more."  _ D’ast.  _ The words slipped out, and Peter couldn’t scramble to collect them fast enough. He could see the way they sank into Matt’s expression. How they softened the lines around his mouth; his eyes, and how he seemed to consider, for a moment, how best to respond.

“I thought for a long while there was only one man for me; really, in the universe,” he said at last, voice idle. The hand on Peter’s waist instead shifted up over his chest, across his heart, resting gently over the fluttering pulse. “But it turns out I shouldn’t limit myself…” The hand clutching Peter’s own moved them closer, fingers drifting to Peter’s lower back instead after lingering on his heartbeat. They became practically as one, spiraling away under the sun in their streamer-filled sky; the disco ball casting them in crystalline light.

“And neither should you.” Matt slowly dropped to one knee before Peter, and the other man - stammering uncontrollably now; indeed just a man, not an emperor or conqueror or anything quite so powerful - was reduced to teary disbelief. 

This had never happened for him.

He and Rich - they’d made promises, but they’d never gotten  _ here,  _ and - 

“Peter Jason Quill,” Matt began quietly, “Emperor of Spartax. Emissary of the Pan-World Treaties, Legendary Royal…” A smile, shyer than most, prickled at the corner of Matt’s mouth, an eyetooth worrying the bottom lip before he pressed on, joined by the shadow that slipped into being beside him, holding the ring in its box while Matthew held Peter’s hand. 

“Would you be ours?” Eddie finished, soft and almost-plaintive. Mouthing at the air, Peter felt hope well up inside of him. The diamond in the deep black band - meteorite, he realized - winking like a star.

_ Make a wish, Peter,  _ Rich whispered in his ear.  _ Because my wish is for you to live. _

_ You’re not supposed to tell me,  _ Peter complained.  _ And that’s ridiculous, Richie. I’m already alive. _

_ No you aren’t,  _ Rich argued back.  _ Not in these walls. Not on this planet. Not under your father’s eye. You need to get out there. See the universe properly. Dance, sing, be free. With me, preferably, but… _

_ No matter what you do, Peter… _

Peter leaned in and pressed his lips to Matt’s first; Matt who knew him, far too well, far too quickly, infuriatingly so, sometimes - 

_ You gotta live. _

And then to Eddie, stalwart knight in his own right, kissing him to the point where he made a startled sound; laughing under his lips - 

“Yes,” Peter pulled back with a gasp; dazed and beaming. “Yes. Yes, yes.”

No longer the other, just another. 

Matt beamed as he shot to his feet, Peter flinging his arms around him and twirling him clean off the floor, Eddie fondly watching as he tucked the ringbox away for safekeeping till Peter was ready to wear the emblem of their love. The song wound to crescendo:

_ Will you still love me tomorrow…? _

And it was love, between all of them - nostalgia and hope and a future. A tomorrow. 

The city answered outside with fireworks and guns.

Work to be done, but from now on, done right. 

And done together, ever more. 


	21. Come back to me...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We kick off book ii electric boogaloo. A look into Edward and Matthew's sordid past and how they got to be who and what they are these days...

#  Book II: A Certain Kind of Toxic Proximity

###  _ “That boy will be the death of you.” _

_ 18 YEARS AGO. _

He could still hear his sister’s voice in the back of his head, nagging where it didn’t belong. Hunched under the stairwell, watching passersby, Eddie and Matthew fought to contain their laughter - one more so than the other.

“They’re just - so  _ stupid,  _ Eddie,” Matthew muttered, passing him the joint between his fingers with a wicked little grin. Eddie sucked on the item smoothly; an inhalation well-practiced this deep into junior year, a pastime they shared between philosophy and debate. Took the edge off, Matt told him, though personally, Eddie felt himself more tightly-wound than ever after every occasion like this. 

“They’re  _ so  _ stupid, and they let me do  _ anything I want,  _ all the time, like - I hardly even need to try. All I need to do is…” Matthew shifted back and fixed his freckled face into a look of plaintive bewilderment - that swiftly melted away into a fresh expression of scorn. “And they’re putty in my hands.” Eddie watched Matthew mime crushing something, then sigh, shifting the roach back to his lips for one more huff before tossing it into the trash-bin. The scent of his particular strain of weed still hung between them, marshmallow-sweet. It was the only kind Matt tolerated, after all - 

Regardless of that, he drew out a small bottle of his cologne - a shimmery orange vial that contained the scent of spices cut with roses. It spritzed in the air and they both drifted through it, a little leisurely sway guided by Matthew’s hand on Eddie’s hip. There was a sigh, and Matt tilted his head, resting it for a moment or two against his other’s arm. 

“It’s getting too easy,” he murmured, then nudged Eddie with an elbow, head motioning for him to follow. From behind him, Matt drew his cane - plain and white, with a red tip to let others know he was coming. He hardly needed it, from what Eddie understood, but --

“Appearances are appearances,” Matthew had told him - in the middle of fixing his tie for the nth time, clucking his tongue over the disheveled attempts Eddie had made at fixing the knot. “I swear, Eddie - it’s like you want me to do this for you every time.” His soft smile had said he hadn’t minded, though - and Eddie’s sheepish expression told whatever omniscient power may or may not have been watching them that the feeling was completely mutual.

“We should see where we’ve fallen in this boorish excuse for a school.” Matt’s smile turned lethal as he snagged Eddie’s hand to pull him faster down the hallway, out from under the stairs and into the throngs of people chattering. Uniforms flowed by, and Eddie felt the prickles of unease that came from the way Matt grabbed onto him so publicly - he’d never cared, though. Just boys being boys, so said the priests, and the nuns could only stare in silent disapproval. 

“You did what I asked, right?” Eddie nodded, and Matt squeezed his hand as they rounded a corner - the cane in Matthew’s hand slapping the backs of the legs of a few freshmen who’d been too deep in conversation to notice the approach of their king. “Of course you did, you always do,” Matthew smiled over his shoulder at Eddie, and the rest of the world took an automatic backseat. His heart swelled, chin lifting slightly, and he found himself smiling back.

It was always easier, when he had Matthew.

“Tell me what it says,” Matthew sighed dramatically once they’d reached the front of the school. “They’ve still not listened to me when I’ve said I wanted braille listings, but - what can you do? I’ll just chastise them later.” Cindy crinkled her nose as Matthew sidled up beside her, Eddie in tow [always], and stepped aside to give him space, albeit not out of respect, apparently.

“You’ve been smoking,” she said accusingly - and Matt swung his head her way with a baring of teeth that served as a smile, all charm and venom. 

“Prove it in a court of law, sweetheart,” he jeered - then fluttered his lashes at Eddie, lightly tugging on his tie to get his attention. “Tell me what it says, please.”

Blue eyes flickered between the disgusted face of Cindy Moon, then back to the board in question. The cork was pristine, hardly-used, set behind glass that reflected awkward, stuck-out ears, fresh welts on his face, and - no. Matthew had asked him to do this. He didn’t even have to look at himself or address any of that. He wasn’t there - he was an echo, a shadow, a reflection. Blank and transparent. A ghost.

And he floated through that knowledge, settling on the page that had been pinned by the theater department. A production of  _ Les Mis  _ was in order for the Spring, though that seemed far away, given that they’d only just hit November. But rehearsals would begin, and continue through the holidays. The instructor was  _ very  _ fond of Matthew - and it was no wonder that - 

“You got the lead,” Eddie said quietly. Matthew all but  _ cackled,  _ throwing his head back, his hand gripping Eddie’s arm for support.

“I  _ knew it, _ ” he crowed, head crashing back down in a flick of wavy red hair. Grinning from ear to ear, he turned, and for a briefly terrifying moment, Eddie swore he was about to be kissed in front of all the people in the hall - 

But all Matthew did was hold his face briefly, squeezing his cheeks, before turning him back toward the list.

“Tell me the rest, tell me the rest, go on--”

“Alright, alright…” Eddie peered at the list a moment longer, then fell silent. Disbelief stole the swords from him as he stammered in confusion, the record skipping in his mind as he twisted back to look Matt’s way, then to the postings again.

“It’s --”

“What is it?” Matthew grinned almost  _ knowingly,  _ bottom lip clenched beneath his even white teeth. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Edward.”

“I’m -- Javert,” Eddie said blankly. Matthew  _ hooted  _ at that, and, taking a step backwards, prodded Eddie playfully with the end of his cane.

“I knew that, too - I felt it in my fucking  _ bones -- _ sorry, sister, I didn’t know you were there, and I’d never swear anyway,” he added, prayerfully bowing his hands to the clearing of a throat nearby; the woman in her habit granting both of them a particularly dubious look. “But  _ yes,  _ this means we finally get to perform together. Aren’t you glad I convinced you to join drama?” Eddie felt a swell of dizziness, hand rising to cover his mouth.

“Whoop--sit down.” Matthew shifted to the left and shoved Eddie gently into one of the chairs by the office door, his face full of impish amusement even now. “Too much at once, I’d wager,” he chuckled, sprawling in the seat beside Eddie with a knowing smirk. One finger tapped the end of Eddie’s nose to get his attention. “Where’ve you gone, darling?” Nausea swelled, black. Cold. Ichor, clawing at his insides. The tip of the cane found his chin, but the cane was a sword. It seemed - too soon for that, why did he think that? Why did he…

Matt leaned in with a whisper that he felt in his bones:

_ “Come back to me.” _

Eddie blinked, lifting his face, and - 

_ Present. _

It was morning in the loft. The apartment was full of the soft ribbons of dawnlight, golden trickles tracing the corners of the room in flowing glitter, a full disco experience of a new day in the city that never slept [even if they did, upon occasion, when Eddie insisted they did so].

They in question lay beside him as he rolled over, a little sorer than usual this morning, but nothing too out of the ordinary - and nothing his symbiote, once well-fed with the “good good chemicals” couldn’t take care of.

Matthew, his hair shorter, but his freckles and soft-sharp face still the same, lay curled with an arm around his pillow - legs entangled with those of Peter, who was taking up the majority of the rest of the bed. They’d had to invest in a supersized king’s bed - something Matthew absolutely refused to shut the fuck up about - but still, there he spread, like the creeping spiral of a galaxy, drooling a little as he mumbled in his sleep.

For a moment, Eddie could only sit there and stare at them. The dream had been real - a visitation of a memory, really - but this was somehow  _ sur _ real. 

Under the pillow, Matt and Peter’s fingers were touching. Eddie knew, because he’d picked up the item in question to peek, and there they were - fingers curled around one another, their golden bands on display. The boy from the stars who had to go back to them from time to time, and the man who all but buried himself in the hallowed halls of  _ his city. _

One hand lifted to brush back a few locks of Matt’s hair, tracing the faint scar at his temple that came from God only knew what. He stirred in his sleep, but only marginally - to pull the covers more around himself, fingers curling beneath Peter’s own. To the lanky man with the golden hair, Eddie bestowed a kiss to his forehead - then slipped out of bed entirely to throw on his clothes and begin the day.

It’d been a blissfully quiet two and a half months together - reorganizing the city and reshaping it with a different kind of hand, not the Hand itself. Where its members had gone remained to be seen - scattered to the four winds, being hunted down by the Black Sky and all his moonlit prowess - or Matthew himself, when the mood struck him, and restlessness took him to the top of the Brooklyn Bridge, listening for clues. 

Peter, too, had pitched in the effort - alien spies now scoured the city, turning over stones as subtly as one might imagine aliens could be [which wasn’t very, but points for effort]. Peter assured both Matthew and Eddie, however, that their methods were practiced - “there’s a surface, a mantle, and a core to this planet, right? Same as my work” “Peter, that’s your worst analogy yet” “give it time” - so they trusted him.

_ More than that,  _ Eddie thought, wandering downstairs as he did up his tie - practiced, now, no longer needing Matthew to get it right for him -  _ we love him. _

Love - it seemed such a foreign concept, meant for schoolboys in secret, really. But he’d carried a torch for Matthew his - whole life, really. Majority of it, at any rate. And so, he’d let it back in - let it be new, let it be something that still gave him butterflies. And it did, where Matthew was concerned. Peter, too, now - 

Different, yet the same.

The stove caught as he clicked on the gas burners and set to work, doing up his apron over the beginnings of his suit, sleeves rolled back to the elbows. 

He was, after all, covered in love’s lessons, its offerings. Tally marks swiped by a sword, consensually-given, that told the story of just how many times Matthew loved him. Practiced, just enough, sealed with kisses from sticky black ink and soft pink lips alike. Peter was not a fan of pain, but he wore the bruises Matthew and Eddie left on him instead - proudly lowering the collars of his shirts to inspect their damages, smugly tracing the marks when deep in thought. 

Cracking eggs into a bowl, Eddie began to whisk, just enough to get them sufficiently stirred; beaten with love in their own way. Beaten but never defeated, was how he put it - and in all things, this too, was desired. 

“You’re up early,” came the voice he knew so well - the voice that could spike with impatience or drop to deadly calm at a moment’s notice. Turning a little, Eddie glanced back at Matthew, sleepily poised with a hand on the banister of the steps, his smile soft as the black robe he’d thrown on, already slipping down over his shoulder. 

As he always found himself doing when Matthew was around, as he had from the first day they’d met, really -- Eddie smiled back. 

“It’s your day off,” Matthew added, bare feet padding across cold tile as he moseyed his way over to Eddie, cheek pressed against the other man’s bicep, “don’t you know you’re allowed to rest?  _ I’ve  _ given you permission, after all,” he added haughtily, snickering to himself before pausing, brow furrowing. “...are you feeling alright?”

“Of course,” Eddie said brightly, pulling himself out of the silent reverie that came from having Matthew so close, going back to pouring ingredients into the now-sizzling pan, “sorry - it’s just...I had a dream - high school dream.”

“Naked in front of the whole class?” Matthew asked innocently - and Eddie snorted in spite of himself, shaking his head.

“No - just...us. The day we found out we were going to be in…” his ears colored red with embarrassment, despite it already happening and it being a wonderful thing, a  _ truly  _ wonderful thing. “The musical.” 

“Ah - forget me not,” Matthew smiled slightly, butting his head against Eddie’s arm before letting go to saunter over to one of the stools at the kitchen bar. “Very nice. I’m quite fond of that memory myself, Javert.”

“And I, Valjean,” Eddie replied stoically - before cracking another soft smile, and an egg, besides. “French press?”

“Yes please,” Matthew sighed, stretching; feline, across the shallow counter. There was a thump and a groan from upstairs, followed by soft space-curses. “Ah, and he’s up.”

“What gave it away?” Eddie joked, and the two of them had a sensible chuckle about that while Peter flailed his way downstairs, yanking on a gray henley with an irritated sigh.

“Suh’early,” he mumbled, groggily blinking at the two men already awake and in the kitchen space. Eddie glanced Peter over - plaid boxers and gray henley - then shook his head, biting back another unexpected laugh. 

“Come down. I’ll make you a mocha.”

“Can you make waffles?” Peter asked, pouncing bonelessly onto the stool beside Matthew, equal parts arm and leg in exhausted tandem. Matthew ruffled his hair with a loving hand, and Peter half-closed his eyes, contented all over again. The warm bed was nice, but the company was; surprisingly, better. 

“I can add waffles to the menu, yes,” Eddie replied calmly - and felt Peter tug on his arm to draw him in for a moment, squeezing his wrist.

“You’re an  _ angel, _ ” Peter informed him, and Matthew  _ burst  _ out laughing at that - to the point where he damn near-careened off his perch.

“He _ is,  _ isn’t he? An  _ angel, _ ” he taunted - which earned him a look he felt in his chest, warm, but rueful. He knew. He always knew.

They all just - seemed to know, new or old, what this feeling was.

The only thing none of them predicted was the phone call that interrupted their Saturday morning bliss...


End file.
